


Grimmauld

by Ciule



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hermione's parents, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Potions, Praise Kink, Teacher-Student Relationship, summer before sixth year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25022500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciule/pseuds/Ciule
Summary: “I want Granger,” he said sullenly. “At least, Granger won’t muck up the brewing, she’s more competent than the lot of you."The summer before her sixth year, the Order asks Hermione to help out with the brewing Professor Snape has to do over the summer. The only thing is, she’ll be stuck in secret at 12 Grimmauld Place, all alone with her Professor to avoid any scandalous rumours.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 371
Kudos: 1270
Collections: Snamione Love





	1. Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to do something else, so ... I wrote this. *grins* I hope you enjoy!

“I want Granger,” he said sullenly. 

Dumbledore blew his moustache thoughtfully, making the long, white hairs sway, peering at Severus over his half-moon glasses. 

Molly, however, glared at him, hands at her hips, leaning against the sink in the deep, cavernous kitchen of 12 Grimmauld. It was only the three of them left, the rest of the Order had disbanded, returning to their mission or their homes. 

As she cleaned up the mess of mugs and platters littering the place after a meeting, Molly had overheard him and Dumbledore talking about his workload - and of course, the nosy woman had interfered. 

“You can’t stay with her in your home - she’s a _schoolgirl,_ Severus, about to start her sixth year - and you’ll be all alone, all summer!” 

“For Merlin’s sake,” he glowered, “what do you think I am? I’m a fucking Professor in a school, a person who teaches children and teenagers, not someone who preys on children!” 

“No, no,” Molly said weakly, “I didn’t mean that, but it will seem like, you know, you’re a fairly young man, and she’s almost an adult, and … people will _talk_. Staying over at her Professor’s home all of a sudden... Besides, she isn’t even yet in the Order!” 

“There isn’t a single decent brewer in the Order,” he countered, challenging the two of them with a hard stare. “At least, Granger won’t muck up the brewing, she’s more competent than the lot of you. Besides, brewing isn’t _dangerous_ , not while I supervise her work at least. We all know, it’s only a matter of time before Albus inducts her.” 

“That’s true,” Dumbledore said slowly. Glancing around in the great kitchen of Grimmauld, he finally said: “I think you’re right, Severus, though Molly does have a point. People will talk, and _you_ will be reviled. She can’t stay in your home.” 

“Please,” Severus muttered, “as if they don’t talk enough as it is. However, only the Order will know, so it shouldn’t affect Miss Granger’s reputation all that badly.” 

Molly pinched her lips together, and Severus just knew, she’d be the one to spread rumours in the Order. _Probably adding some drivel about him lusting after the girl too. Maybe the wording in his request had been a little off._

“Very well,” Dumbledore sighed. “You must stay here, at Grimmauld, and no one will know about it.” 

Molly made as if she was going to say something, but Albus interrupted her sternly: “No Molly, no one will know. Not even Arthur. This will be our secret, or would you prefer an Obliviate?” 

The witch stared angrily at the Headmaster, before she sniffed disdainfully. “I can keep my mouth shut, Albus. I thought you trusted me by now.” Glaring at Severus, she muttered: “If I hear one word of you doing anything you shouldn’t do to the girl, I will personally castrate you!” 

Severus rolled his eyes, vitriol on the tip of his tongue, ready to lash out at the woman, but Albus, the old fool, was laughing, blue eyes glittering. 

“Molly, that will not be necessary. Severus isn’t that kind of man. It’s settled, then. We’ll ask the girl, and my guess is, she’ll say yes. Thus, we’ll be able to stock up on the necessary potions over the summer, but we’ll need to find another place for the Order meetings.” 

Xxxx

“So, that’s why we’re asking you to do this for the Order,” Professor McGonagall said, looking oddly at home in the Muggle home of Hermione’s parents in Summerhill Lane in Lindfield, West Sussex. 

The doors to the garden were open, a light breeze rustling in the trees outside, chasing the summer heat with a pleasant breath of wind, making the curtains sway slightly in the wind. The smell of roses from her mother’s gardening efforts was overpowering. 

McGonagall sat in the middle of the comfortable sofa with flower prints, black pointed hat on her head, leaning back into the squishy pillows with a steaming mug of tea in her hands like she belonged there. Hermione’s parents were out shopping for groceries, and to be frank, Hermione was happy they weren’t here for this conversation. 

“Professor _Snape_ asked for _me_ to help him brew,” Hermione said sceptically, like this was something unbelievable, as if her Professor had come all the way down to Lindfield to tell her a cock and bull story, just for laughs. 

“He did,” her Professor confirmed with a nod. “Even such a Master as Severus can’t possibly pull off the workload of brewing both for the Order and for You-Know-Who. There’s a lot to do for the Order, and now You-Know-Who has dumped quite a tall order on him as well. He needs help to get it all done, and… to be frank, the Order needs those potions.” 

“I bet he wasn’t happy to ask for help,” Hermione said impulsively, and McGonagall’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. 

“You may be right,” the old witch said. “Do you accept? I must impress on you, you cannot tell anyone but your parents about where you are going and who you will work with. Though, this is an opportunity for you, because you will learn a lot from Severus during these two months. Things you’ll never learn in class. Though, Severus is forced to do a lot of things in his role as a spy, and not all those potions will be … uh … savoury.” 

“I understand,” Hermione said, glancing around in the familiar surroundings, her eyes resting on the pictures from the summer she and her parents had spent in France, looking so happy and carefree. _She had hoped to spend more time with her parents this summer, but… If the Order needed her, and if she also had the opportunity to learn advanced potion making with Professor Snape, it really wasn’t a choice. Inside, she could already feel the excitement mounting, signifying that her thirst for knowledge had awakened, summer holidays be damned._

“I’ll do it,” she said, and McGonagall looked grateful. 

Hesitantly, like her Professor was unsure, she said: “I know Severus will be pleased, though … it’s unlikely he’ll tell you so. Well, you know him.” 

Hermione had to smile, because the very idea of Professor Snape thanking her for her efforts was ridiculous, but then she realized, _she didn’t know the man at all. Maybe she would, after this summer._

Xxxx

Her parents hadn’t been all that happy for her leaving, but she told them she was offered an advanced summer course in potioneering, and that she would be able to stay at the town house Harry had inherited in London. The commute from Lindfield to Grimmauld was doable, but Hermione knew fickle potions didn’t care about the timetables for the last train to Haywards Heath. Reluctantly, her parents had accepted, knowing how important her education was to her. 

Thus, Professor Snape knocked on their door in Summerhill Lane on 1 July to escort her to their home for the summer. It was sweltering hot, but he was dressed in his frock coat, buttoned up like always, black hair hanging lank around his face. Hermione knew he was probably using a Cooling Charm, but her parents, warm and sweaty in thin summer clothes, shot one glance at the Professor, and forcibly invited him into the shade of the garden for a cup of Pimms. 

The Professor tried to reject the offer, but her mother wouldn’t hear of it, dragging him along through the house, pulling his arm as they went through the living room, the dining room and the conservatory, tugging him along before ending up into the garden, much to Hermione’s astonishment and - _she had to admit it_ \- secret amusement. _Like she’d ever thought anyone would succeed in making Severus Snape do something he didn’t want to, but then again, she’d never imagined him meeting her parents either._

Sitting in the slowly swaying hammock, holding an orange-yellowish drink filled with sliced fruits and cucumber, Professor Snape looked wildly out of place with his severe, layered clothing and his glowering disposition. Still, she could see his eyes flitting about, taking in the detached house, the spacious garden and the countryside quiet, with birds singing in the trees and a faint rustle of wind. 

Hermione’s Mum, sitting in the shade underneath the canopy of leaves, chattered obliviously on, asking questions on how Hermione did at school, or if her grades were good enough to consider a career in potions. 

“Because you see, Hermione has talked a lot about how exciting potion-making is, and as we understand it, this is very much like our chemistry, and it must be so important to your … world and culture, just like chemistry is to us I mean, it’s a life-saver, isn’t it, and…” 

Professor Snape glanced briefly at Hermione, and she couldn’t help biting her bottom lip. _Any moment now, any moment would her Professor say something dismissive, disparage her skill or taunt her for working too much by the book. Then her parents would balk, and…_

To her surprise, Professor Snape said in a neutral voice: “Miss Granger is a very good student. I believe her work is promising.” 

Feeling gobsmacked, her mouth hanging partly open in shock, she felt a blush rising in her cheeks. _Had Professor Snape just given her praise? Had the teacher who_ **_never_ ** _said anything encouraging to anyone just told her she was good at potions, promising, even?_ For a brief moment of insanity, she wanted to shriek in excitement, but luckily, her senses took over, and she merely grinned at her Professor. 

He looked almost embarrassed by seeing her smile, but her parents positively _beamed_ at the man, and her father shouted: “That’s my girl!” before filling Professor Snape’s glass to the brim again. 

Several glasses later, it was time to say goodbye. Her parents hugged her, her mother crying a little, and all the while, Snape watched them with an inscrutable glance. 

On the doorstep, he proffered his arm to her. “Side-Along,” he said calmly. 

She hesitated, feeling a little confused by the fact that she was to touch Professor Snape, of all people. 

Impatiently, he grabbed her arm, yanking her closer: “There is a bounty on your head. Consequently, Albus won’t let you travel to Grimmauld on your own, or by any other means. You have to Side-Along with me.” 

The nauseating pressure squeezed her into atoms, before spitting her out on the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place. The tall, narrow brick house seemed dark and grimy like always, like it was in a perpetual state of murkiness and unlovable filth. 

The dizziness accompanying Apparition made her stumble into her Professor’s broad chest, and for a moment, her nose was squished into his frock coat, the buttons pushing into her cheeks. 

Breathing in deeply, she inhaled his scent, and to her surprise, Professor Snape smelled nice. _Clean, spicy and undoubtedly male. Somehow, she had always thought he’d smell … stuffy, dusty or maybe just like frying oil._

Raising her head, she looked up into his black eyes again. He gripped her upper arms, before pushing her back, gentler than she would have thought. 

Staggering a few steps back, she mutely followed him into the dim murkiness of 12 Grimmauld Place. 

  
  


Xxxx

Settling in her usual, narrow bedroom on the first floor, she cleared out the dust and the cobwebs with a cleaning spell Mrs. Weasley had taught them last summer, before checking the large, ornately carved wooden wardrobe for Boggarts. Letting out a relieved huff, she found it empty, having no wish for McGonagall to appear, telling her what a failure she was. _Because… what if she didn’t make it? What if she WAS a failure? What if Professor Snape would have had to save her from the Boggart? He would gloat all summer, she was sure._

Shuddering by that thought - _she wanted his approval, not his scorn -_ she Levitated her neatly folded robes and clothing into the wardrobe, closing the creaking door. Lovingly, she placed her books and school things by hand on the shelves along the wall. The striped tapestries were in three different shades of a dark and somber green, and as always, she wondered if it was always so that the Death Eaters would favour darker colours. _Had there ever been a dark witch or wizard dressed in pastels?_ She grinned, picturing Professor Snape in a bright yellow frock coat, but decided he might be better off in his unrelenting black. 

He had taken a room a few doors away from her, grunting sourly that he’d be downstairs in a short while, before slamming his door shut. _On one level, she was pleased he had chosen a room close to her, because with only two people in the big house, it was bound to feel like it was empty. On the other hand, she didn’t look forward to meeting him when she went to the bathroom. Maybe she should set up the bathroom on the second floor as her own instead._

Hermione sniffed, as she glanced critically around in the room. The air was unbearably stuffy, the smell of old wood and dilapidated fabrics permeating every room, like the house itself was decaying, which it probably was. _She fervently hoped there weren’t mould or other unhealthy things in her bedroom._

Trying to open the windows to air out the room, the windows were at first stuck in their frames. She threw her weight at it, huffing and puffing as she used brute force, before she remembered she could spell them open - _she was on a wizarding property right now, the Ministry couldn’t send her a warning for underage magic -_ and then a doxy zoomed out from the heavy, purple curtains. Investigating, she found that a whole nest of them had formed. 

Sending a flurry of Knockback Jinxes into the curtains, the small bodies thumped down on the wooden floor, ending up in a small pile. Levitating them, she marched downstairs, sending them out in the tiny garden at the back to wake up, instead of Banishing them. 

“You know, that will only make them try to return,” a deep voice drawled, and spinning on her feet, she saw her Professor standing by the garden door, arms folded over his chest and an amused, but scornful expression on his sallow face. “Misguided mercy, foolish little girl,” he muttered, shaking his head, before retreating into the shadows. 

Rolling her eyes, she knew she couldn’t expect anything else from her Professor. _He was probably right, though, the Doxies would try to move back in._

Following him downstairs into the great kitchen, seeing that he must have cleaned it already, as pots and pans were polished to a shine, she asked: “When will we start brewing?” 

The Professor put the kettle on the stove, jabbing his wand to get the heat going underneath, and Hermione sat down by the long, narrow kitchen table, resting her chin on her knuckles as she waited for her Professor to answer. 

“Tonight,” he shrugged. “We’ll start with a few bases for potions that need time to mature. For example, Polyjuice - yes, Granger, I _know_ you can brew this one - as well as the base for the 'Cobweb’s Cauldron' _._ Tomorrow, we’re just brewing regular Healing potions, Pepper-ups and Skele-Gro.That’s for the Order, of course.” 

“Cobweb’s Cauldron?” she asked, “I don’t think I’ve heard about that one.” 

Her Professor grunted. “I’d be surprised if you had. It’s not something I would set on the curriculum.” 

“What does it do?” 

“If you’re unlucky enough to drink it, you will end up trussed up in cobwebs with no means of escaping by yourself. It’s quite effective as torture.” 

Hermione gasped. “That’s for _him_?” 

“Indeed it is. The Polyjuice, however, is for _both_ parties.” The arched eyebrow of her Professor was challenging, like he dared her to back out, now that she had gotten an inkling of what Voldemort would require. _How she’d participate in creating someone else’s suffering and pain._

Swallowing, she straightened, staring unflinching at Snape. _She wouldn’t back out. She was here to learn from England’s best potioneer, and she had been prepared for this. She had known this would happen._

“Still,” she mused, “I don’t think I’ve heard about it. It’s not mentioned in ' _1001 Potions and Poisons_ ', I believe.” 

“It’s my invention,” Professor Snape said tiredly, as the kettle started whistling. Turning around, robes billowing about him, he spooned tea leaves into a pot, before pouring the hot water over the leaves. “I invented it in my youth, and I’ve never seen any point in teaching people how to brew this. Nothing good will come out of it, and enough people are aware of it as it is. First, we’ll have tea - proper tea, to get that taste of the awful brew your parents served out of my mouth, and then you can start dinner. There are supplies in the store room.” 

“Uh.” Hermione’s eyes flitted about in the kitchen, suddenly realizing that she was about to spend two months alone with her Professor, and neither her mother nor the House-elves from Hogwarts would be doing the cooking. Finally, she admitted sheepishly: “I’m … not … that good at cooking.” 

“Really?” Snape drawled, looking like Christmas had come early, a familiar, malicious glint in his dark eyes. “Is there something - _finally_ \- that the Golden Girl of Gryffindor can’t do? Or is it merely that such things are beneath you, is it?” 

“No,” she muttered, half embarrassed, “it’s just that… I don’t have to cook at school, right, and at home Mum and Dad does it, so…” 

“So the spoiled rich little girl never had to,” Snape finished, an ugly sneer on his face. 

“I’m not a…” she snapped, but he interrupted her, stalking towards her, towering over her, making her crane her neck to look at his sallow face. 

“Yes, you are. It was all there in your posh country home, and it was so very evident that your well-to-do, well-meaning parents cuddle their precious little girl. You know _nothing_ about real life, Miss Granger, and you don’t know how _lucky_ you are. I can tell you one thing, the House-elf that lived here, Kreacher, _left_ when he learned you were coming, afraid that you’d trick him with clothes.” 

“What…!” she sputtered, but he continued, unrelentingly: 

“You should, however, take into consideration that young Mr. Weasley will expect you to cook like his mother. Most young wizards do.” 

“Ron? No, why are you …” she said, flabbergasted. _There had been a crush, but nothing serious, and she would never…_

“I do have eyes, Miss Granger,” her Professor snapped. “Luckily for you - and me - I am a very decent cook. By the end of summer, you will be too, girl. I’m not about to cook every meal for her Royal Highness of Gryffindor. You will have to work in this household too, you know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In (semi-)canon, Hermione lived in Hampstead with her parents. I needed to increase the distance between her home and Grimmauld for the sake of the story, making sure she had to sleep at 12 Grimmauld Place. After all, it's less than 15 minutes between Hampstead Heath and Islington, where 12 Grimmauld Place is supposed to be. Consequently, Hermione's parents now live in West Sussex. ;-)


	2. Basement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His sharp intake of breath was clearly signalling surprise, and she met his eyes, giving him a wavering smile. 
> 
> His eyes softened for a brief moment, looking grateful, before his habitual blank mask came back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've split what was originally one chapter in two. Hence, the chapter count went up from three to four.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“We’ll be brewing in here,” he said, opening a plain, wooden door at the end of the great kitchen. Peering inside, she thought the room originally might have been a pantry. A rather large pantry, if she had to say so, with room enough for their brewing. 

Along the rough-hewn stone walls, there were wooden shelves, now fully stocked with ingredients in jars, phials and bottles, as well as gleaming cauldrons in all sizes, including an overly large pewter cauldron, size 50. 

That cauldron reached her chest. “I’ve never seen a cauldron in this size,” she said wonderingly, because to her knowledge, Potage’s Cauldron Shop in Diagon Alley only stocked cauldrons up to size 39. 

“It’s for brewing standard potions in very large batches,” he explained, looking at her like she was stupid, as if she didn’t understand that one could brew a big batch in a large cauldron. 

Glaring at him, she knew there was no point in explaining herself, because even that would likely be a source for ridicule. _She was willing to bet, he’d mutter ‘Know-it-all’ under his breath faster than she could draw her wand._

The Professor had erected five cauldron stands in the middle of the floor. 

“I will work four, and you’ll handle the one,” he said with a disparaging sneer. “We’ll see, by the end of summer, if you can advance to working two cauldrons. Needless to say, Miss Granger, you will need to satisfy _my_ standards of brewing, before I let you try your hand at ruining two potions at the same time. Now go on, make a Pepper-Up in a quadrupel batch. Yes, Granger, you are to use the _large_ cauldron. It’s over _there_.” 

With a jab of his hand, he indicated the big pewter cauldron. 

Breathing heavily through her nose, she tried her best to curb her temper. _Don’t antagonize him the first day. Remember, he asked for you - this is just how he is. Rude, snarky and he’s likely just trying to get a raise out of you. Shut up and brew, Hermione, show him that this isn’t going to work. Don’t take the bait._

“Yes, sir,” she said blithely, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. “I’ll get right to it.” 

He grunted, looking momentarily displeased, folding his arms over his chest as he watched her struggle to move the big cauldron to the closest stand. It was heavy, and in the end, she decided to Levitate it, realizing that while Professor Snape might be able to haul such a cauldron around, she was not even close. Eyes on the airborne cauldron, she stepped right into a big puddle of water, her trainers soaking through, the water looking green and slimy, like it had been there for a long time. 

With a sigh, she asked bitterly: “Why must we brew down here? It’s so … damp and cold! It’s not a lack of rooms in this house, is there?” 

The basement room was dank, water dripping in the corners, and the vaulted roof above their heads was glistening, looking mouldy in places, phosphorescent fungus growing in a patch near the apex of the vault. 

“It’s for the best,” he said curtly, answering her complaint. “Sunlight makes most potions unstable, and ingredients deteriorate more quickly. Cold, humidity and dark ensures a higher quality of the brew. One should avoid more heat than what the fires underneath the cauldrons provide. We could try to set a permanent Cooling Charm on another room, but it’s also quite a bit of work, as it needs to be fitted to the wards on the house. To be frank, the Blacks put so many protection spells and wards on this house, we are better off leaving it alone.” 

As he said that, he glanced at her, like there was something more to be said about the wards, but he ventured no more information. 

Getting her magical fire going, Hermione sighed, realizing he was right. Within minutes, she had to wipe her sweaty brow, as the cauldron indeed made it hot enough down here. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun at her nape, but wisps of hair were continuously trying to escape, clinging to her face, making her purse her lips, trying to blow the hair away while her hands were busy. 

Upstairs, the summer heat was stifling, but down here, the contrast between the roaring heat at her front and the cold damp air at her back was unpleasant at the best. Her shirt became soaked with sweat and dampness at her front, clinging to her, while she had goosebumps on her back, feeling clammy, cold and too hot at the same time. 

Snape leaned over his cauldron, sharp eyes inspecting if his Wit-Sharpening had the exact green shade he aimed for, and the fumes from the brew curled around his torso and head, making his hair look damp, slick and greasy, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

She hadn’t never put much thought into it, but with a start, Hermione realized that her teacher wasn’t a slob who never washed his hair, like Ron maintained. Instead, the fumes and dampness of his working environment contributed to his famously greasy hair. 

Blinking, she remembered that he actually smelled good when she got close to him on the stairs outside, and though she hadn’t been examining him in detail at breakfast, she thought his hair maybe hadn’t been so greasy in the morning. _She vowed to check him out properly the next morning. And maybe try to get a whiff of how he smelled too, to see if that very nice scent she had noticed after the Apparition was a one time thing or not._

Xxxx

Her dreams were odd and nightmarish, like the decaying old house disturbed her unconsciousness. Frequently, she woke up sweaty and nervous, like there was a lurking, threatening danger just at the corner of her eye. 

_She was wearing old-fashioned clothing, a deep green velvet dress, with lace at her throat and wrists. The tight corset underneath made it hard to breathe, and she was forever climbing the stairs in the house, walking along the narrow corridors. The tattered tapestries were bulging in damp patches, like there were things scuttling behind the fabric, following her around as she hurried ever onwards._

_In those dreams, she was alway running away, like there was a subtle, menacing chase by something she never saw or heard. Portraits would follow her with their eyes, glaring at her, whispering that she didn’t belong in the house, she had to leave, she was in the wrong place, defiling the property, she brought shame over the noble house of Black. Ominous creaks and sudden thuds of something heavy being moved were all around her, and her breath would pick up, until she tried to run in her uncomfortable long dress, stumbling around, never finding the door to outside._

The feeling of wrongness abated each morning when she woke, knowing that she shared this old strange house with one of the most competent wizards in Britain, no matter his grumpy disposition. Nothing wrong could happen to her in the morning light, and she scoffed at herself for letting the dark atmosphere of the house get to her. _Night terrors indeed. After all, wasn’t she an almost grown witch? Surely, she shouldn’t be afraid of her dreams!_

Over the next weeks, he let her brew all the potions for the sixth year curriculum and the seventh year as well, with harsh criticism and comments, but she also knew she was getting better. _Much better, under his watchful eye._

He paid attention to details she had never thought about, the angle of her stick when stirring, the speed when she added ingredients - _some were to drift gently into the brew, others were to be almost chucked in by force -_ and he was very meticulous on perfecting the shapes and forms of the ingredients she chopped up. 

When he checked the quality of her brews, and gave her a curt nod: “This will do, Granger,” she always got a small jolt of satisfaction, making her tingle and burn with excitement, like a lick of flame deep in her belly. _Pleasing Professor Snape had never been easy, and she knew, those curts nods were the equivalent of gushing praise from another teacher. And it felt so good to finally earn his praise._

Though, at other times, he’d shake his head and Vanish her brew. 

“The temperature was too high, and thus, the potion coagulated too quickly, not giving enough time for the belladonna essence to blend with the Thestral blood. I expect you to not only _read_ the instructions, but _follow_ them as well, Granger.” 

The sneer on his face was infuriating, and his arrogant toss of the head towards the workbench had only one possible interpretation: _She had to scrub the cauldron and start anew._

Like always, she had to rein in her temper, and she bit her lip, nodded, and vowing herself to never make that particular mistake again. 

Xxxx

In the evenings, they read in the library. The Blacks had an extensive collection of books, and she loved the smell of leather, parchment and old paper, immersing herself into books that likely would be banned from the Hogwarts library. He made no comments to her choice of reading up on the Dark Arts, except that his damnable eyebrow arched in surprise, before returning to his own reading. 

The sofa and the chairs had swirling patterns in gold and dark green, almost bordering on a sooty black, and there were small tables scattered, where you could put your drink. Tall windows with dark brown draperies stared blindly out into the square in front of the house, but there were lamp stands where you could fix magical balls of light, by _Lumos_ or other spells, giving off just the right amount of light for reading in the dark July nights. 

Every evening were, however, cut off by him stretching, before he gruffly said: “Off to bed with you, Granger, it’s way past bedtime. Remember, we aren’t here to laze around.” 

With a nod, she’d shut her book, before leaving for the bathroom on the second floor. Somehow, it never occurred to her to protest, but then again, she had a stack of books waiting by her bedside too. 

In a way, she loved this. _Reading in the old library, sharing a cup of tea with someone who was equally interested in reading, and not disrupting her immersion into the books. Someone who made no noise, only soft sounds from the tea mug clinking against the saucer and the comforting rustling as pages were turned. It was a perfect companionship, and somehow, she thought her Professor enjoyed it too._

But the Dark Arts books were fascinating. Slowly, she dared asking him questions from her readings, and he deigned to answer. _Never during their reading time, though, only at meals and during chores, and at times when they performed long stirring sessions or chopped large amounts of ingredients._

“Sir, why is it that so many Dark spells are rituals that require sacrifice?” she asked, as she had set the timer for thirty minutes, starting to stir the sludgy, grey base of Maligant’s Poison with heavy rotations of her glass stirring stick, size three. The potion smelled foul, and she tried to breathe in over her shoulder to avoid inhaling the noxious fumes. 

Her Professor noticed, and set a small Wind Funnel Charm on her cauldron, leading the fumes away from her. The base wasn’t lethal yet, but she knew, even at this stage, it could lead to stomach troubles. Nodding at him with a smile, she got a small frown in return, his eyes sliding over her, the blank expression indicating that he didn’t even notice the embarrassing fact that her shirt was now clinging to her front again. _It had proved to be bloody difficult to set a precise divide between a Heating Charm at her back and a Cooling Charm on her front, resulting in a very uncomfortable ice burn across her shoulders, and after a few days of fruitless attempts, she had given up._

“Good question,” he said, chopping frog liver into tiny, perfect cubes, his sharp silver knife moving with a practised ease and professionalism. 

“Many dark spells are inherently meant to bring you gain in some fashion, while others are meant to take something from another. Thus, the spells require a balance. The energy has to be gathered somewhere for you to achieve what you want, and thus, sacrifices are what makes the spell work.” 

“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “So the Avada Kedavra works, because the energy the spell requires is equal to the energy from the death of the victim?” 

“Yes,” he nodded, looking sharply at her. “Are you reading up on the Killing Curse, of all things?” 

“Various spells, actually. I was asking because there was a spell where you increase your power by killing things, gathering their life force to increase your strength.” 

Her Professor huffed, still chopping liver at breakneck speed. “The _Captae Vis Animarum_?” 

“Yes, do you know it?” 

“I’ve used it, girl, in my youth, when I was a young and very foolish man.” 

“Oh.” she stared at him, _wondering if…_

“I know what you’re thinking, and your suspicions are correct, Granger. But I do regret it.” 

The Professor wasn’t looking at her, but his chopping slowed, then stopped. 

“You killed people with this spell?” Her voice was very small, but she kept looking at him, astounded that he had confided something like this to her. 

“I did.” he confirmed, black eyes staring defiantly at her, as he was waiting for her to condemn him, to revile him, like he expected no less. 

She swallowed. _No matter, she trusted him, and given his role, she had suspected that he had done bad things. To know that he was a killer was .. most of all a confirmation of her suspicions. It didn’t change her opinion of him._

“I’m sorry,” she said gently, “it must have been horrible for you.” 

His sharp intake of breath was clearly signalling surprise, and she met his eyes, giving him a wavering smile. 

His eyes softened for a brief moment, looking _grateful_ , before his habitual blank mask came back on. 

Xxxx

To his surprise, the girl did very well. He barely had to correct her, measuring her work to the same standard as he held to his own, Vanishing whatever potions that weren’t the epitome of perfection. 

_The girl probably thought he was an arse anyway, no matter that he tried to curb his tendencies to criticize just for the heck of it. Though, he rather thought she was a perfectionist too. Then again, everything would have been so easy for her. Wealthy loving parents, a nice home, all the support and care a child could ever wish for. Nothing like his own upbringing: Poor, neglected and with frequent beatings - until he was powerful enough to hex his father - and later becoming big enough to hit him back. He felt quite sure, she was a perfectionist because she wanted to, he was one because he had to._

Sighing, he let the tumbler with Firewhisky swirl in his hand, small whiffs of smoke wafting up to his nostrils, giving off the pleasant, sharp tang of rich peat, earth and smokiness. Peering at the golden colour, he was reminded of Granger’s pretty brown eyes, with amber speckles. 

Blinking, he quickly corrected himself. _This was clearly wrong, he was_ **_not_ ** _thinking about his student in those terms. She was merely a young girl, not someone on whom he should have an opinion of her looks._

Forcibly turning his thoughts to the whisky, he judged it to be a very decent blend. _That had been pure luck, him grabbing the first bottle he had seen, as he hurried from store to store during shopping, sweeping through Diagon Alley like the great bat they all thought him to be._

Sighing, he knew Granger was in too much danger for him to leave her alone for an extended period. 

“Professor?” she asked, her voice a little uncertain. _She never asked questions when they were reading, though, she would have noticed him being preoccupied._

“Yes, Granger?” he asked tiredly. 

“I was wondering about the wards on the house. Earlier, I was told, and I’m quoting Dumbledore here: ‘it has been placed under every security measure known to wizardkind.’ So, why is it that the house was filled with Boggarts, Doxies and other creatures? I thought the wards would hold off dark creatures too? Besides, the house feels … sort of… well, angry.” 

_And there it was, Granger being too smart for her own good, latching on to the very reason he was worried._   
  
Severus took a deep breath, before drinking deeply from his Firewhisky. _He didn’t want to scare the girl, now, did he? But… she deserved the truth._

Abruptly, he rose from his chair, startling the girl, before turning to the bookshelves. Searching for only a short while, he found the correct book. _It was here, of course the Blacks would have this book, but still. This wasn’t something he’d usually give to a student. She could take it, though, she would take it so well, like she took everything he threw at her._

Stopping short for a moment, blanching as his mind rushed down a very much forbidden path, he almost yelled at himself: _Not that! Not that, you perverted fool!_

“Here,” he said a little panicky, thrusting the book into her hand. “Read this, it’ll tell you everything.” 

The girl furrowed her pretty dark eyebrows, turning the book over in her hands, and standing over her, he couldn’t help staring down at her cleavage. _Sweet Merlin, her shirt had become too small, the buttons straining over her chest, and the soft swell of her breasts were clearly visible._

Retreating quickly to the safety of his own chair, he sat down, trying to think about anything else than the fact that his student seemed to be sporting a nice handful. _Had he been drinking too much tonight? Was that the reason for his unruly thoughts? Maybe he should stick to tea tomorrow._

“This is what the Blacks used when warding the house?” she asked, her face looking disgusted. ”I mean, this is a book on wards demanding human sacrifices!” 

Severus nodded, taking in her pale face. “Yes, and as you’ll see, wards can be set against whatever or whomever the caster chooses. I don’t think the Blacks minded dark creatures at all, hence all the pests and the creatures.” 

_But there were other living things the Black family would have wanted to keep out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, is Severus starting to notice our girl?
> 
> The Black library seems to be fanon, much to my surprise. That's why I stole some of the interior from the canon drawing room.


	3. Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The intensity of his drunken gaze was overwhelming, like he was expecting something from her, like her fear and anxiousness had morphed into something entirely different the moment he came home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, this is E-rated, right? *grins*

True to his word, he taught her how to cook. From burnt eggs and blackened bacon, she moved on, improving to making tasty risottos and roast chicken, enduring his taunts on how the little rich girl had to use her hands to work manually. 

“So, Granger, did you realize just now that butter or oil is necessary to avoid _burning_ the eggs? Did you even see an uncooked egg before, or did your parents spare their little princess for such sights?” 

She glared at him, scraping the blackened things that had been four perfectly good eggs out of the cast iron frying pan, her arms almost shaking with the effort of holding the heavy item. _How was she supposed to know that half a teaspoon of butter wouldn’t be enough? There was no recipe for frying eggs, was there?_

The night he _didn’t_ comment on her cooking felt like a small victory, like she had finally made a passable meal. 

Over the weeks, the house felt more and more like a prison, as he wouldn’t even allow her outside for shopping. Only he ventured out, getting food and ingredients when needed. 

“You can’t go out by yourself, and you certainly can’t follow _me_ around,” he drawled, as she once again asked to join him. 

“I just want to see some sunlight… see people,” she muttered, peering at him underneath her eyelashes. 

He shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable, like he knew her question was valid. “Go into the garden. Try to Conjure an imaginary friend, if you must.” Turning around, his black cape swirled around him, and he left, only the sharp crack of his Apparition resounding in the hall. 

Hermione always tiptoed through the hall, to avoid setting Walburga Black off, but the sound of his Apparition was more than enough. The curtains parted, and shrieks of “ **MUDBLOOD FILTH! UNCLEAN, WORTHLESS PIECE OF FLESH! PURGE HER FROM MY HOUSE! DESTROY HER, KILL HER, MAKE HER SUFFER FOR BEING ALIVE**!” tore through the house. 

It was tiresome, to say the least, and besides, the insane eyes and the frothing spittle at the portrait’s mouth made her feel, well, _**small**. The hatred of Mrs. Black, whom she hadn’t even met, proved the unrelenting contempt and despisal the Death Eaters held for people like her. _

When he was gone, she made herself busy, practising spell casting or minding the cauldrons. 

To be alone in the old house felt … uncomfortable, like the house itself didn’t want her to be there, not only the shrieking portrait of its former mistress, and she tried to take her mind off the fact that she was all alone in the old house. She missed Crookshanks, regretting leaving him with her parents, though she was sure he was much happier chasing mice in the countryside than being stuck in the small garden belonging to 12 Grimmauld Place. 

Without Snape, the narrow halls and corridors seemed to shrink around her, like the house wanted to trap her between damp and ragged patches of tapestries, suffocating her between her walls, just like in her recurring nightmare. The atmosphere became oppressive, as if something lay in wait for her, and the silence was stuffy. To make up for it, she tried to make noises, even going so far as to sing - _even though she couldn’t hold a tune for the life of her -_ when she did the dishes or stirred the brews they had going. 

Then again, she supposed some really horrid things had happened in the house, if Snape was right concerning the wards. _Human sacrifice…_ she shuddered, wondering where the Blacks would have set up their ritual. _Surely not the kitchen or the library, but she suspected the drawing room. Somehow, the room gave her chills. Then again, she supposed all of it did, because the entire house had to be sentient on some level. That was the point of a human sacrifice in a warding ritual, wasn’t it, to make a house a sentient warden for your family?_

Her Professor’s presence made the feeling go away, like the house accepted him - _and her only by extent_ \- and she was always happy to see him return, helping him to Enlarge the shopping bags and caskets, replenishing and filling their stores. 

“How come you never have to visit _him?”_ she asked at dinner, because she had been wondering. _He was always gone for such a short time, she couldn’t imagine he also had time to report to Voldemort._

Snape shrugged. “I convinced him the brewing would consume all my time, night and day. As it indeed would have done, if it wasn’t for you.” 

At that, she straightened her back, almost imperceptibly, feeling like she actually _contributed,_ not only to the Order, but also to making her Professor’s summer bearable. He, of course, didn’t miss much, and he smirked, looking knowingly at her, like he knew what was going on inside. 

“Indeed, you are of _some_ service.” 

The unexpected approval made her blush, and he rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

“Come on, Granger, you should be able to take my praise too by now, shouldn’t you?” 

To her surprise, he also blushed, inexplicably so, like he had uttered something he really didn’t mean to say. _Come to think of it, he was probably embarrassed for saying something nice._

Xxxx

They had fallen into such a comfortable routine, every day close to the same, so it was quite a shock when she came down into the kitchen one morning to see him cook breakfast in his shirtsleeves, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Gone was the frock coat, the vest and the cravat, and in front of her stood a man that seemed to be several years younger, having shed his heavy layers of clothing. 

Eyes round, she saw strong, sinewy arms, a black inkstain marring his left - _the Dark Mark -_ and what had to be a lean, but strong torso. Blinking, she realized her stern, distant Professor was a _man_ , not just a … glowering entity. _Actually, a good-looking man. Not conventionally, but he was … striking._ Her glance moving slowly down his body, she saw to her shock that his feet were bare. _That almost made her giggle, and she guessed, this was how he dressed when he was home alone._

He looked insolently at her, like he dared her to comment on his attire. Seeing the small tug at the corners of his mouth, she cleared her throat, trying to affect a semblance of normality: “Hi. Uh, good morning.” 

“Good morning,” he said, stirring the oats expertly, before pouring it into two bowls, like nothing unusual had happened. 

She poured the tea, just like any other morning, but she knew, it wasn’t. _This was momentous. Severus Snape had just decided she was a part of his home life._

Xxxx

Unfortunately, Dumbledore had left him in charge of the house, meaning that the house now answered to him. _  
__  
__“It’s for the best, Severus,” the old man had said, eyes twinkling merrily, “because if it acts up, you can restrain it. Thus, Miss Granger will not have to suffer from it’s … ah, disposition. You know, these sentient houses, they have their own will, taking upon them to act without the leave of their master. You must be firm, though Merlin help me, I know it’s not easy, after managing Hogwarts for years.”_

Severus wasn’t really sure about that, because he rather thought Hogwarts managed itself, not minding the Headmaster at all. However, he suspected Miss Granger must be affected by the Grimmauld house on some level, though she had said nothing about it. For that matter, he was fed up with it’s antics as well. 

Every night, it had whispered at him in his dreams, showing him gruesome images of how it thought he should be hunting Miss Granger through the house, before torturing and killing her in the worst ways. 

_Chasing her through the house, the girl prettily dressed up as a Victorian maiden, helpless in her heavy layers of clothing, no match for his sure and rapid steps behind her. “When you catch her,” the house whispered, with a gloating, evil smugness, “oh, when you do, you can rip those layers off, trap her, cage her between your arms, having her scream so deliciously as you rip her naked body apart with your magic… ”_

Every night, he had rebuffed the house, barking at it to leave his dreams alone, and that he was NOT going to attack Miss Granger, no matter the sick wishes of a semi-sentient house. The house grumbled, telling him it was looking for ways to get rid of her by itself, and he would bark at it, telling it in no uncertain terms that it was not to harm her. 

Then it caught on to his more embarrassing thoughts of Miss Granger, and the house became more insidious, whispering that he might be Miss Granger’s master, thus making her do _anything_ he wanted to. _“If you are the Mudblood’s master, she can be tolerated. They are made to serve their wizards. She could be your own little plaything, serving you so well.”_

The images it tried to send him, adhered too close for comfort to his most secret desires, and he staunchly denied them, telling the house to leave his dreams alone, and to not bother Miss Granger. 

As to the last, it only snickered derisively. 

Xxxx

The change had been so slow, that she had somehow failed to recognize that they had entered a very good working relationship. He gave her tasks, corrected her brewing, and taught her how to cook, and in return, she worked hard. At times, he even allowed her to cast curses and hexes, instructing her spellwork, paying close attention to her wand work, correcting her stance, before telling her quietly one evening that when school commenced, he was to be the Defense Professor, not the Potions Master. 

“Oh,” she said, eyes round, “congratulations. But.. what about the curse?” 

He shrugged. “I’m not sure it will matter next year, to be frank.” 

Narrowing her eyes, she asked slowly: “Do you really think all ...this … will be resolved in a year? Like we’ll win, or Merlin forbid, _him_?” 

“I wish,” he said resignedly, turning away from her to search for a new book in the extensive Black library. 

Pacing for a while in front of the shelves, like he was in some kind of inner turmoil, unable to settle down with a book, he suddenly turned around, announcing: “I need a drink.” 

She shrugged, knowing that he had several bottles of Firewhisky left from his last shopping trip. 

“I mean, I’m going to the pub.” 

Blinking, she said: “Uh, ok? Stay safe.” 

He snorted. “Like anyone would dare to bother me,” he muttered darkly, before Summoning his frock coat, swooping out of the library. The door slammed shut, setting off Walburga Black’s portrait into shrieks and curses, and Hermione sighed, casting a Silencing Charm around the library, effectively shutting out the wailing portrait. 

After an hour, the silence became oppressive. Something prickled at the back of her neck, like there was danger afoot, and she tore down the Charm, listening intently to the house. Everything was quiet, like she was all alone in the world, but still, she shivered, like she was scared. _As if there was a malicious presence in the house, just waiting to pounce on her._

Huddling on the sofa with her book, she couldn’t concentrate on reading, and slowly, ever so slowly, she realized, she might just be afraid to be alone at night. Usually, she was never really alone. Either she was at Hogwarts, surrounded by hundreds of students, or she was at home with her parents, who very rarely went out. Or, Snape was here at Grimmauld with her. This was … something new, something much worse than when Snape went shopping for an hour or two in broad daylight. The old unfriendly house, filled to the brim with dark magic and hatred of Muggleborns, the quiet night, and she being the only human inside. _If something happened to her - if there_ **_was_ ** _an evil presence in here - no one would be able to hear her scream._

Rubbing the gooseflesh on her arms, her imagination took hold. _Of Kreacher coming back, scuttling around and seeing that Snape was out, alerting Death Eaters to break in and abduct her. Of something old and evil living in the house itself, revenants of Black family members coming to attack her, slimy, rotten limbs trying to tear her apart for her blood status. Of old curses activated by her blood, held at bay only by Snape’s presence, and when he had left, it would strike…_

Heart hammering in her throat, she gave up reading, just clutching her blanket around her, freezing in the warm summer night. _Sweet Merlin, she missed Snape. She felt lost in this house without him._

The hours ticked by, and she tried to go to bed, only to toss and turn, sleep evading her, ears pricking up at any creaks and groans from the old house. _Had there always been so many odd snapping sounds, creaking boards and strange drafts, like evil whispers from a sentient being?_ Burrowing into her blankets, she closed her eyes, trying to breathe normally, only to find her eyes snapping open, body rigid, as the next sound came from somewhere in the house. _Were the sounds getting closer? Was there something creeping towards her room, slithering, like scales over the carpet?_

Eventually, she gave up sleeping, instead leaving her room, tip-toeing to the entrance hall to sit on the stairs. With arms huddled around her knees, wand clutched in her hand, she decided to wait up for Snape, eyes locked on the door, trying to ignore the strange play of shadows and lights falling through the glazing bars on the windows from outside. Her white nightgown was too thin, making her cold, like there was something uncanny at play in the warm August night, her feet feeling like ice on the wooden steps. 

At two a.m. he came stumbling in, looking dishevelled and scruffy, his shirt half tucked into his trousers and frock coat hanging open. 

She rose silently, like a pale spectre in the dark entrance hall, standing there on the stairs. 

He raised his head, eyes looking much too dark in the dim hall, setting one foot on the lowest step, leaning on the banister too heavily, like he needed it for balance. 

“D’ you wait up for me?” he asked, deep voice slurring, his eyes oddly hopeful. 

She nodded, silently, and a grin formed on his face. “You miss’d me, Granger?” 

The intensity of his drunken gaze was overwhelming, like he was expecting something from her, like her fear and anxiousness had morphed into something entirely different the moment he came home. 

Her heart hammering in her throat, she licked her lips slowly, though it felt like her tongue should be glued to the roof of her mouth. Short of breath, she nodded again, merely looking at him, standing four steps below herself, making them almost the same height. His breath reeked of whisky, and up close, she could see his eyes were blood-shot, and his chin had a dark five-o’clock shadow. 

His eyes glittered, before they softened. Stretching out a hand - _ever so slowly, like she’d scare easily_ \- he cupped her chin briefly, muttering: “Good girl. You’re such a good girl, Granger. I’ll take care of you, I will. I promise. Good girl.” 

His hand was searingly warm, and she couldn’t help nuzzling into it, trying to soak up that delicious feeling of heat and companionship. _She was no longer alone, Snape was here, and he’d set everything to rights._

Then he stumbled past her, leaving her there on the stairs, before he tumbled into his room. 

Xxxx

  
  


Somehow, inexplicably, that late night encounter had brought them closer. _He was friendlier than before, not so snarky,_ she thought, and at times he was almost courteous, even complimenting her work, even though that was still a rare occurrence. When it happened, though, she felt something bloom inside her, remembering that whispered “ _good girl.”_

Something must have happened with the house too, because her dreams had changed, and the nightmares had disappeared. Now, she had hot and confused dreams about her Professor, dreams that she really shouldn’t have. 

_Improper dreams, where he kissed her, undressed her and touched her, warm hands stroking her body, finding their way between her legs, making her moan, and she would wake up, feeling strangely elated, like she was on the cusp of something exciting._

The thought of her Professor finding out was frightening, and she determinedly kept her hands above her sheets, not touching herself even though she wanted to. She supposed he wouldn’t invade her mind with Legilimency out of the blue, but still, those dreams felt too risqué. _How Severus Snape would laugh at her if he knew, deriding her for acting like a silly besotted schoolgirl._

Their discussions on Dark Magic became more advanced, as she read more and understood more. Finally, she dared to ask questions about things she had done previously. 

Though his face was normally devoid of emotions, she could see the shock and astonishment as she asked him if Rita Skeeter eventually would have died as a beetle, her life span shortened if Hermione hadn’t let her out of her jar that summer between her fourth and fifth year. 

Faintly, his deep voice sounding oddly weak, he said: “You captured Skeeter, kept her in her animagus form in a jar for _months_ to _blackmail_ her?” 

“I did,” she confirmed, before repeating her question: “She acted like a true beetle the whole time, and I also wonder if the animal form can take over your mind, if you stay too long. When I let her out, she was very confused, and it took at least three hours before she managed to transform back into her human form. She also missed a feeler, it looked very odd on her head.” 

Shaking his head, he said abruptly: “To my knowledge, not even Peter Pettigrew went for months without returning to human form. He told me, during a … a… revel, that he routinely returned to his own form at night, as to not forget he was human. That means… Granger, I know the Dark Lord experiments with Transfiguring prisoners. To be frank, I don’t think anyone but he would have any answers to your questions.”

“Huh, I’m certainly not going to ask _him_ ,” she sniped, and Snape ruefully shook his head, black hair swinging around his face. 

“No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. Not at all.” But his eyes lingered on her for a long time, like he was considering her with a newfound respect. 

Xxxx

Granger was so much more _grey_ than he’d ever imagined from seeing her in class. The things she read, how she never balked at making the most grueful of potions, and the things she asked about - _Merlin, the things she had told him of her actions! Skeeter and Umbridge came to mind easily_ \- it all pointed to a young witch on the verge of darkness. _Not quite stepping out in the dark territories, but very much a borderline grey witch, masquerading as a perfect, pretty little teacher’s pet. Granger was still young, still trustful, but oh so intelligent. Just the kind of witch that could tip over into total darkness, thought he rather thought she had too much moral stamina for that._

Still, he couldn’t quite forget the innocent vision in white, trembling with cold and fear, longing for his company, that had met him on the stairs that night. He genuinely wanted to help her, and to his surprise, in the end, the house had responded so well to his final command, sounding almost pleased as it purred its agreement to leave her alone, not bothering her anymore. 

_Still, she’d be appalled and angry if she knew what he had done. The most important thing was to keep her safe, not to preserve some kind of… self-respect. Not for her, and certainly not for him. Though, she’d never know if he had anything to say about it. It wasn’t as if he’d ever bring her back here. At some point, the house would have demanded proof, but he congratulated himself on his stalling tactics. The house seemed content to wait._

She also told him about her Protean Charm for Dumbledore’s Army. “The idea came from the Dark Mark, obviously, and I would like to ask you how the Mark works. Because the Charmed coins worked very well, but it would be great if one could pinpoint locations and Apparate to those who hold other coins. After all, we’re going to learn Apparition this year, and eventually, I want to improve the usefulness of the coins.” 

This time, he wasn’t so surprised, but still he had to repeat her question: “You already made a workable Protean Charm as a communication device, which, I might add, is magic far beyond your years. Now, you want to learn more about the Dark Mark, because you’re planning to do something similar for your friends, barring the tattooing of a Mark on their skin?” 

“Yes, that’s what I’m asking,” she beamed, basking in his rare praise, looking for all the world like a wholesome goody-two-shoes girl, and not like a girl who had just asked him to explain the theory behind how the Dark Lord Marked his followers. _He knew, she loved praise, hungered for it, even, and during the summer, he had been surprised by how easily she seemed to follow his lead when brewing, even though she asked more questions than he had ever believed a witch could ask._

Shaking his head in baffled wonder, he told her: “It’s a Point-Me spell, layered within a Summoning Charm. It must be carefully adjusted, or else you would end up Apparating on top of whoever Summoned you.” 

The small grin on her face told him that she, _just like himself,_ was imagining an enraged, swearing Voldemort testing the spell in his youth, having followers landing on top of him before he nailed the adjustments. 

Her nods and questions to ascertain she had understood the spell theory correctly made him - _there was no other word for it -_ impressed. _The girl would do well in spell construction one day, and he was almost envious, wondering what his life had been like if he had gone down that road instead of the Dark Arts. If he had had a companion, someone who had supported him through that dark time in his past… If he had had such support and care as Miss Granger seemed to have had from her parents, and from his fellow Professors as well. This was the way a child should be brought up, not like the way he had been raised._

Sighing, he poured himself a tumbler of Firewhisky. Usually, the girl had tea, but tonight, her eyes followed his movements, like she wanted a drop of whisky for herself. 

Almost without thinking, he cocked his head, holding the bottle out to her, like he would have done to a grown witch. 

A smile crept over her face, making him feel … _something_ … something he clearly shouldn’t feel in relation to his student, and she nodded. 

Stretching languidly, like a cat, out of her position on the sofa, chest arching out as she stretched her back, she padded to him, and he poured her two fingers of Firewhisky. The smoking amber liquid sloshed in the tumbler, making wine legs trail along the crystal cut glass, and for a brief moment, their hands touched as she took the glass. _And he should NOT have felt that shiver down his spine by the innocent touch of her soft hand._

Xxxx

“You’ve mentioned there’s a bounty on my head,” she said, stirring vigorously at his own creation, the very dangerous Potion no. 86. 

She would be stirring for a long time, almost two hours, and he was wondering if her arms were strong enough, or if he would have to step in. The girl was thin, with hardly any muscles at all, though her strength had improved over the summer by the daily stirrings. _He could massage her arms, if she got tired, he could rub her down…_ _  
__  
_Blinking, to clear his head, he yelled at himself: _Snap out of it! This is improper._ In the back of his head, the house chuckled maliciously. 

“That’s true,” he said, crushing moonseeds with the flat of his broad silver blade, not giving away his thoughts. 

“What.. why?” 

“Really, Granger?” he drawled, stopping his movement to peer at her. 

Sweaty strands of her hair were clinging to her pale throat, and her pale green shirt was starting to cling to her front, outlining the curves of her breasts, becoming almost see-through. He swallowed, looking down at his work again. _He was not sporting an erection due to seeing her body so revealed. He was not!_ Shifting, trying to surreptitiously adjust himself, he crushed the seeds with a vengeance, scowling at his work bench. Making an effort to control himself, he slowed his breathing, emtpied his mind, like he was going to Occlude. 

“I would have thought you had realized that by now. You, and young Mr. Weasley, are a means to get to Potter,” he said, more calmly than he felt. “You, in particular, because of your… heritage … and because you’re female.” 

“Female?” she said, a disgusted frown on her face. “Do you mean…?” 

“Exactly, Granger,” he answered heavily. “There are several Death Eaters who would very much enjoy capturing such a pretty girl like yourself. Be very careful, when you are in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. Or at your parents’ house. Or anywhere, really.” 

There was a sudden, surprising blush to her face, and she looked down. Too late, he realized he had _told_ her she was _pretty_. 

Xxxx

Swearing softly to himself, leaning against his bedroom door, he tried to forget the sight that had brushed past him in the corridor, a breezy “Good night, Professor!” as she closed her own door. 

After her vigorous stirring session, the girl had been soaked in sweat, and she had obviously gone to the bathroom she used on the second floor to take a bath. 

_Groaning, he imagined her in her bath, pale wet skin, droplets sliding over soft curves, and she would have touched herself, and…_

Smacking his head into the door with a thud, he tried to snap out of it, but he knew, he’d never forget the sight of her pale back, narrow waist and round arse passing him. Her towel had slipped in the back, and she - _innocent little thing she was_ \- mustn’t have noticed. 

_“But you did notice her,” the house whispered slyly, “you did. What’s stopping you? Go in there, take her like you should. A lack of age has never stopped a wizard in taking a Mudblood before in this house. You don’t have to wait for her to come of age, do you? She has no family to defend her, she’s all yours. Naked, hot and after a while, she’ll learn her place and become willing.”_

“Shut up! Don’t call her that!” he barked at the house, traitorous cock stirring in his trousers, “shut UP!” 

  
  


Xxxx

By the end of August, just two days before she was leaving for the Hogwarts train, she picked up a book on Dark Sex Magic from a corner in the Black library. 

The contents of the book scared her deeply, making her realize how much damage one could inflict on another person through various curses and spells of a sexual nature. 

Of course, due to the inherent sexist nature of the history of the wizarding world - _or the world in general_ , she thought - young maids were sought after for various evil rituals, making it easier for a wizard to gain control over the witch by a forced, magical encounter, by taking her virginity within a ritual. 

Staring blindly into the air, the fireplace crackling slowly in the rainy, late August evening, she just knew she had to get rid of her virginity as soon as possible. _This was a book with spells designed to prey on a girl like her, if Death Eaters ever caught up with her. And if it was in the Black library, chances were, other Death Eaters would have copies of the book. Being a virgin, she was much too vulnerable, and it would be prudent to minimize that risk. But who would kick up the least fuss?_

She didn’t know she had spoken out loud, before her Professor drawled, looking curious: 

“Fuss? It’s always good to avoid fuss, Granger.” 

Then he leaned forward: “What _are_ you reading?” 

Suddenly, his sallow face flushed, and he averted his eyes. “Gods, Granger, that’s … dark, indeed. You really shouldn’t be reading that. I had no idea...” 

Her fingers stiff around the edge of the book, feeling like claws clutching around the leather binding, she whispered: “I’m in so much danger, and I didn’t know.” 

Her Professor swallowed, eyes dark, hooded almost, as he asked: “I take it, you are a…?”

“Yes,” she nodded, biting her bottom lip, too concerned with the contents of the book to care that she had just revealed a very personal piece of information to her Professor. 

Severus Snape took a deep breath, his chest expanding, before he confirmed: “Then it’s true, you are in danger, very much so. Though, you are safe here with _me_ , and at Hogwarts.” 

“Still… I have to… It's the only sane solution, I need to make sure I’m not that vulnerable…” 

Snape blinked. “You meant finding a partner to…?” 

“Yes,” she whispered, mortified, a blush creeping up on her face, not caring that she was almost blabbering, her fear too strong to hold back. “And I really don’t want to be involved with anyone yet, though I wouldn’t want it to be a stranger. How am I going to find a boy who’ll do this, who’ll shut up about the encounter and who won’t expect a relationship? I mean, who do I know that’ll kick up the least fuss?” 

Snape snorted, looking at the same time both incredulous and glowering: “It’s a good thing you’re not planning to join the Dark Lord, Granger. The world does not need two brilliant people working in cohorts who plot their life like a game of chess, where other people are just pawns. You _aren’t_ planning on joining him, are you?” 

Stung, she snapped the book shut, glaring at him, feeling tears brim in her eyes. _Here she was, mortally afraid of being taken advantage of, and he chose to compare her to Voldemort? And why was he suddenly back in full snark mode?_

Xxxx

That night, he took himself in hand, allowing himself to think of her for the first time. In the back of his head, the house positively _gloated_. For a long time, he had stared at the tented bulge under his nightshirt, trying to ignore the insistent throbbing in his cock, but in the end, he gave up, hands fumbling with his shirt, pulling it up, glaring with disgust at his erect cock, laying hard against his hairy stomach, the red head already leaking precum in expectation. 

His fist closed around his cock, and he felt utterly ashamed, depraved, wanking as he thought of his student’s virgin quim, how he wanted to breach that tight little pussy, being the first man who had her. 

She was so beautiful, though she apparently had no idea, but most of all, it was that brilliant mind of hers that made his blood run hotter. _The way he had desperately tried to avoid leering at her when brewing, when her shirt clung to her pert breasts after hours of sweaty stirring, and her sweet face, her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip as she read in the library._

Falling into a fantasy, he pictured her stretched out on the sofa in the library, her lithe body naked, legs parted for him, her riotous hair like a halo around her head, mingling into the swirls of the greenish-golden pattern of the sofa. _To his great shame, he could feel the house cheering his fantasy on._

_She’d be wet, eager, moaning softly as he fingered her soaked sex, her hard little clit sliding against his fingers, and she would be panting when his finger entered her, stretching her, readying her for his sizeable cock. When he pressed another finger into her, widening her hole, she would whimper his name. Finally he’d settle between her legs, pushing her legs against her chest, fisting his throbbing cock, sliding it between her folds to coat him in her arousal. He’d notch the head in her opening, slowly, ever so slowly entering her, her pussy squeezing deliciously tight around the sensitive head of his cock, before he’d bottom out, growling in her ear, drowning out her soft whimpers. Then, he’d thrust into her, wet skin slapping against skin, before finally spilling into her virginal opening, filling her pussy with his seed, leaving her cunt wet and sloppy, marking her with his come._

The sticky liquid splattered over his stomach and he was bucking into his hand, orgasm hurtling down his spine and through his body, as he thought about how her abused little hole would weep tears of milky white as he pulled out of her. 

Afterwards, he groaned, Summoning a tumbler with Firewhisky, trying hard to forget that he had fantasised about a girl in his care. _She wasn’t even of age yet, as he very well knew! Entering her sixth year, she would turn seventeen during the school year, and he thought she might be born in the autumn, but he wasn’t sure at all._ Shuddering, he felt so very disgusted with himself, and the house’s leering satisfaction was loathsome. _It was so pleased, thinking it had finally made him submit to its lecherous plans, turning him onto a path that would inevitably lead him to ravish the girl._

_And maybe it was true. He had been led astray, by the insidious whisperings of the house and his own dirty imagination and lack of self-restraint. Dear Merlin, fantasizing about fucking a student who was underage, wanking to the image to boot. He was a total creep, wasn’t he?_

Xxxx 

On their last morning at Grimmauld, he told her, eyes not meeting hers: “While at school, you must see, Granger, I can’t act so informal with you.” 

“I know, sir,” she said quietly. Searching his face, she thought he looked somewhat guilty and ashamed. _Did he regret letting her in, somewhat, or did he regret the fact that they couldn’t seem to be on friendly terms?_

Somehow, she thought it was the latter, and compassion rose inside her, making her almost tearful. _Severus Snape had to be a very lonely man. During the summer, he hadn’t visited anyone, nor had anyone visited him, and there had been very little mail correspondence except from Hogwarts. Her gut feeling told her, she was as close to being a friend as Severus Snape had had in years._

Trying to clear her throat, she muttered: “I realize you have a role to play in more than one way.” 

“I…” his voice faltered, and he looked away again. Shaking his head, he said sharply, brisk and businesslike: “Good to know you understand, Granger.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close, and yet not... ;-)
> 
> I think Hermione, the girl who had "failure" as her Boggart, would have a serious praise kink.


	4. Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still, he managed to get out: “I’m the one who’ll kick up the least fuss now, am I?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when a story runs away from you, and you totally lack self-control and discipline. *rolls eyes at self*
> 
> I had to up the chapter count again, or else this chapter would have been almost 9000 words. So, I split it up, and it will be a grand total of five chapters.

The school year started, and everything felt like normal - _almost_. Snape had impressed upon her, no one except Dumbledore, McGonagall and oddly enough Molly Weasley would know how she spent her summer. “It’s as much for my safety as yours,” he had explained, looking disgruntled. 

She wasn’t really sure how her own safety played into it, though she understood his concerns - _Voldemort wouldn’t be happy if he knew his loyal Potion Master had spent the summer with a Muggleborn -_ but she supposed, people might be questioning her loyalties. 

At least, Harry and Ron would badger her to no end, trying to frame Snape for being a true Death Eater for brewing those potions for Voldemort. _Come to think of it - she had, in fact, spent the summer in Harry’s house, without telling him. Maybe he would be angrier._

In general, Harry had been sullen and prone to fits of anger, all the way from King’s Cross to the Great Hall, and she supposed he was still grieving Sirius. _That made her almost forgive him for his constant grumpiness, but she certainly wasn’t about to make him go off on a tangent even more than he already did by himself._

Consequently, she told the boys a story of being on vacation abroad with her parents _._

“Sounds boring, ‘Mione. How many art museums can three people possibly visit over a few weeks? I mean, the pictures aren’t even moving or talking, are they?” Ron said, before changing the subject. “Hey, did you hear about the new broom Charlie bought over the summer? It’s a new manufacturer, from Romania, and it’s still in the experimental stages, but…” 

As usual, they didn’t really listen, chattering about Quidditch or their own experiences, shoveling food into their mouths, the Great Hall filled with light, warmth and enormous amounts of fantastic food. Everyone was happy to see their friends again, but she felt like something - _someone_ \- lacked in her life. 

Moving her knife and fork listlessly, trying to cut her roast chicken into perfect cubes, piling them up on one side of her golden plate, she felt a pang in her heart. _She missed conversations about the things she cared about. She missed the one who’d glance critically at her cubes of chicken, saying: “If you slice like that, that last cube would have reduced the effects of any brew. You must do better, Granger. Use any occasion to practise your slicing, every meal, and you will, eventually get better.”_

Sighing deeply, she looked up to the Head table, and there he was, so close, yet so far away. Her Professor sat in his usual seat, dark robes covering the strong body underneath, a small smirk on his face after being announced as the Defense teacher, and she knew, he’d be slicing his chicken into perfect cubes as well. 

Her eyes sliding over him, hungrily taking in his black hair, those dark eyes, making her lower belly tingle with a blooming warmth, and she acutely wished she was back at Grimmauld. _With him._

Her stare must have caught his attention, and his eyes suddenly caught hers, black, sharp and hawk-like. For a moment, his eyes softened - _like he missed her too -_ but then he shook his head minutely, before turning to engage the new Potions Professor, Slughorn, in conversation. 

Xxxx

To her surprise, Harry had gotten hold of an old potions textbook, which just _had_ to have belonged to Professor Snape. She recognized many of the little tweaks he had taught her during summer from the cramped scrawling in the book’s margins. _And really, how come Harry didn’t recognize the handwriting? Professor Snape had been marking their work for five years by now!_

Their new teacher, Horace Slughorn, was over the moon by having two potion geniuses in his class, and suddenly, she had competition. _Still, she knew she was much better than Harry, having had two months of intense instruction from the Half-Blood Prince himself. Vaguely, she wondered why he had chosen such a ridiculous nickname, though she realized, when her Professor was still in school, the name Severus Snape didn’t command the kind of respect and fear that was awarded him now._

“The Prince is great,” Harry enthused, beaming at the O he had gotten from Slughorn, and she smiled, pleased with her own. _Snape would surely never have given her an O, and certainly never Harry._

“I think so too,” she said with a grin, wondering if Harry would have said the exact same thing, if he knew it was Snape’s book that helped him along. 

“How come you _aren’t_ the voice of reason?” Ron asked, glaring at her. 

“What?” she said, blinking at him. 

“Why don’t you, of all people, tell Harry that it’s dangerous to mess with unknown spells and experimental potion making from a source we know next to nothing about? You always say to go by the book!” 

Ron looked affronted at her surprising behaviour, and Hermione shrugged. _Of course she would, if she didn’t happen to know the source. Though, it wasn’t as if she could tell Ron and Harry exactly that._

Ron was acting increasingly odd, constantly pecking on her, like he expected her to act differently towards him. So far she knew, she was acting just like before, as her usual friendly self, but apparently, it wasn’t enough. And then they had a falling out because of the Quidditch tryouts. 

Hermione supposed it would have bothered her more if it weren’t for her summer at Grimmauld, seeing him snog Lavender Brown all over the place. 

“Does it bother you?” Harry asked, watching her carefully. 

“No,” she said, giving him a small smile. “Not, not at all. I’m happy Ron found a girl.” 

She had long since removed Ron from her list of wizards that wouldn’t make a fuss about taking her virginity, because she knew Ron **would** make a mess of it. _He’d never leave her be afterwards._ Harry wasn’t on the list either, but that was more because she couldn’t even contemplate being naked with him - Harry was the brother she never had. _To be frank, there wasn’t really anyone she wanted on that list, except …_

Sighing, she knew she had to be realistic. **_That_ ** would never happen. _She should look elsewhere, because the danger wasn’t going to go away._

Xxxx

In Defense, her Professor was as snarky and angry as before, glowering at anyone in Gryffindor, but there were rare moments when they eyes met, especially if someone asked or did something particularly stupid in in class, where they would share an amused, but exasperated glance. 

At any other time, he would be just as forbidding as he used to be before their summer together, and it was with a bit of trepidation that she knocked on his door at office hours. 

Peeking inside, she saw the customary greeting scowl that would meet anyone trying to bother him during office hours. His face, though, transformed so rapidly into a relieved - _and, dared she say happy? -_ expression when he recognized her. 

“Come in!”

Entering, she heard the door behind her click to lock, but she walked steadfastly towards the rickety, spindly chair meant for his visitors, not minding at all that she was locked inside Professor Snape’s dungeon office. _This must be a nightmare for most students, but not for me,_ she thought with a small smile _._

The office was dark and forbidding, like always, only lit by the flames in the fireplace and a small, bobbing light above her Professor’s head, giving him enough light for reading and marking. The mingled sharp and spicy smell of the numerous ingredients stored in bottles and phials, as well as the scent from rows upon rows of books and parchment was comfortable, reminding her of Grimmauld, and she sighed happily. 

“I hear Slughorn is amazed by your Potion skills,” he said with a small tug of his lips. 

“It seems I improved over the summer,” she said, grinning cheekily at him. “My last teacher wasn’t as pleased with me as Slughorn seems to be.” 

He arched an eyebrow, before saying dryly: “Your last teacher wasn’t that easy to please. His standards are _much_ higher.” 

“I know,” she said, before adding hesitantly: “That’s why I appreciate his praise so much more.” 

In the dim light of his office, she could see his eyes darken, and he swallowed, leaning forward, a curious intensity in his movements, like he was coiled to spring. 

Fidgeting on the uncomfortable spindly chair reserved for his visitors, she almost couldn’t breathe. _As if her words had set something alight…_

 ** _Snap!_** The fire suddenly crackled, embers flying high in the fireplace behind him. They both started, the tension of the moment breaking.

Her Professor leaned back in his comfortable leather chair behind his desk, face almost hidden by his long hair. 

“Uh, right,” she said nervously. “I also came to ask you about the Transmogrifian Curse. I’ve read that you can never undo the effects, and I wondered if that really was true.” 

Snape sighed, steepling his hands. “I cannot remember setting that curse on the sixth year curriculum, Granger. Still, I’m not surprised. You’ve read the entire seventh year curriculum as well, haven’t you.” 

“Yes, sir,” she said a little sheepishly. 

“And more,” he muttered, nodding at her. “It’s a good question, though. In my opinion, a counter-curse is possible, though no one has found a counter-curse. I suspect the damage would still require treatment, maybe a combination of spells and a Healing potion.” 

And then he suddenly looked very serious, saying gravely: “Maybe you should look into it. It would be a better use of your talents than Summoning your friends at will, as this would be a true help for St. Mungos. Besides, in my experience, people _don’t_ like being Summoned.” 

  
  


Xxxx

These encounters made her feel happy, warm inside, when she could discuss magic with him, asking questions, knowing that he was the sole person she knew that could keep up with her. Their intellectual banter was so refreshing, like a quiet island of knowledge in a rough sea of quidditch talk, the usual grumbling about homework and Ron’s glares. _And when he suggested that she might do research, proving that her Professor thought her good enough to solve such problems, she felt like she could be flying._

The Professor, however, looked increasingly haggard and drawn as the weeks passed, like he was wrestling with difficulties, and she wondered if Voldemort demanded much of him. _It was impossible to ask, but she was worried about him, thinking about him far too often._

Her “no fuss”-list proved to be difficult. She had quickly decided that she wanted someone single, someone quiet, who wouldn’t be bragging, and that ruled out all of Gryffindor as she knew them, except maybe Neville. She also wasn’t sure about most of the Hufflepuff boys in that respect. 

To be frank, she thought most of the single boys were single for a reason. The single Ravenclaws were generally obnoxious, and she suspected some of them would take notes during the act, cataloguing her responses. And the Slytherins - _well, she had no interest in people like Malfoy, Crabbe or Goyle, had she_ ? She also wasn’t sure about the alignments in Slytherin: _Who was on Voldemort’s side or not?_ Those who were, might use those Dark Magic sex spells against her, but to research the political alignment of every single Slytherin boy seemed like a daunting task. She concluded quickly, the Slytherins were a risk. _Except the Head of Slytherin. She knew he would keep her safe._

He was still in her dreams, and she would frequently still wake up gasping from too-hot imaginary encounters, making her ashamed, wet and aching. _But … it wasn’t as she routinely talked to him all day anymore, and chances were, he wouldn’t pick up a stray thought when she was in a throng of students._

Silencing her bed, she snaked one hand into her knickers, feeling the soaked, overheated flesh, and let the forbidden thoughts of her Professor run free. 

_He would ask her to stay behind after class, locking the doors, before telling her he would reward her for being such a good girl. Ordering her to bend over the desk, he would feel how drenched she was, dropping his trousers, before gripping her hips hard, entering her with his hard, warm shaft. Or, he would even tell her she had done badly, spanking her, his warm hand hitting her arse, before he took her hard, telling her she had taken his punishment so well._

The fantasies made her squirm in her lonely bed, and her breath grew heavier, as she circled her little nub at the front, feeling slickness soaking her sex. The empty ache in her belly cried for her to be filled up, and she dared to let one finger press into her opening, feeling the curious softness and wetness on the inside, but quickly, she winced at the stretch. _Oh, and he would be so much bigger, his cock so hard as he took her…_

She came with a squeal, imagining him inside her, her hands furiously rubbing that little nub at her front. 

Panting, she lay blushing, as her heart rate slowed and her body relaxed into the blessed afterglow. _This was sort of ridiculous, because her fantasies were of him dominating her, and surely, she wasn’t a weak girl. Quite the opposite, really: She was clever, strong and ambitious, and she was well on her way to become a powerful witch. So why did she fall apart, thinking about how her stern Professor might take control over her, rewarding her or punishing her?_

Xxxx

During the autumn, he looked at her much too often, seeing her become more beautiful every single day. From the corner of his eye, he had noted she came of age on 19 September, and after that, his frequent wanking to fantasies of her felt _slightly_ less alarming. On some level, he also felt grateful for actually still feeling the attraction to her. _That proved he hadn’t been so much affected by the house as he had feared. This at least - this forbidden desire to take his student to bed - was his own, not the demented persuasion of a perverted, evil house._

Though, he was still a grown man lusting after a student, a teenage witch, but at least she was of age, and his desire wouldn’t be illegal. _As if he’d ever, ever act on it. It wasn’t as if he’d bring her back to the house._

_Instead, he fantasized that she’d come to him, closing the door softly behind her, dropping her robes, before sighing: “Professor, will you please help me?”_

_He would oblige, so very happily, bending her over his desk, kneeling behind her, tasting her wet pussy, licking her until she squirmed in front of him and his chin became shiny with drool and her fluids. Then, he’d take her, pushing inside her, slowly, gently, until she begged: “More, harder, Professor!” Pistoning in her, he’d empty himself in her, while she trembled and clenched around him, her own orgasm squeezing the last drops from him, and..._

Panting, he swished a quick “ _Tergeo!_ over his stomach, feeling sick to the guts. _She would never do that, never in a lifetime. This was just the perverted imagination of a lonely wizard, who wanted a girl almost twenty years younger than himself. It would be better if he went down to the Three Broomsticks and found himself a willing witch for the night - but he didn’t want to. He wanted_ **_her_** _._

Still, he couldn’t help wondering if she had found a young wizard who’d fuck her without questions. _Being so pretty, it would hardly be a difficult task, but his stomach soured at the thought, though he had no right to think so._

He looked forward to talking to her when she turned up at office hours, but he was also pleased she didn’t show up too often. _The last thing he needed was anyone wondering why the loyal Death Eater spent so much time with Potter’s friend._

By the end of one evening, he blurted out: “You’re smart enough, you know the risk. Don’t come here too often, though I … I value your visits.” 

Her blush was immediate, her mouth half open, eyes a little glazed by his praise, and there was a jolt to his groin as he suddenly wondered: _Was this how she would look in bed?_

With a sigh, she rose, like she was fighting herself, wanting to stay, but she said softly: “You look tired, Professor. Maybe you should consider getting more rest.” 

That touched him, such an innocuous expression of _care_ , something that no one else afforded him. 

“I’ll manage,” he said gruffly, “but thank you, Granger.” 

She wouldn’t let it go, though, asking: “Is it because of _him_?” 

Sighing, he grimaced bitterly. “What else?” _Voldemort had been demanding this autumn, and he shuddered, thinking of the things that he had had to do, and even more by thinking of the things he had wriggled out of, citing his need to keep his facade as a Hogwarts Professor._

“I’m so sorry,” she said gently, compassionately. “I wish there was something I could do.” 

Almost thunderstruck, he watched her leave. 

Xxxx 

_It was boring after the two of them left. No one to talk to, no one to scare. It wondered if something would happen between the two of them on the Outside, or if they would merely drift apart. Even though having a Mudblood Inside was loathsome, the house half wished they would come back from the Outside._

_Late in October, Kreacher came slinking back Inside, telling a story of how the Dark Lord had moved in at Malfoy Manor. It snapped at the House-elf, telling it to start cleaning, but Kreacher only spat, creeping into his lair._

_Grumbling, it wondered why Malfoy Manor had it all. A Family living Inside, being serviced by numerous House-elves that actually did their job, and now it had the honour of housing the Dark Lord too? Where had the Noble House of Black failed? Why was Grimmauld alone, abandoned and without Family? Why was the remnant of the Family still in existence choosing to live Outside? Well, at least it would keep the pact with its Family, serving their wishes though they no longer saw fit to live Inside 12 Grimmauld Place._

_“Death and slavery to the Mudbloods,” it mumbled, before falling into a sullen silence, only interrupted by Kreacher’s snores._

Xxxx

Staying late in the silent Hogwarts library, everyone else having left, giving up their homework for the evening, she read through her essay on how to Shield yourself and your partner when fighting. _It had to be perfect, because she didn’t want her Professor to think badly of her._ Rewriting a paragraph, she sighed, when an idea suddenly struck her. _Shielding and warding had similarities, and if she compared the differences in her essay, she might gain his approval._

Glancing at her bag, she knew the book on dark blood wards from the Black library were still in there. _She had only read it once during summer, skipping over a few parts, because there were so many other interesting books to read. Consequently, placed in the pile on her bedside table for a second reading, she had just swiped everything into her bag when she left Grimmauld._ Cheeks burning, she realized she had literally _stolen_ the book. 

Tugging the old, leatherbound book up from her bag, filled to the brim with books and scrolls even though she had an Extension Charm in place, she lost her grip on the book when it finally came loose from the bag. With an audible smack, strangely loud in the quiet room, it fell to the floor, a thin notebook falling out. 

She narrowed her eyes, looking at it. _Old notebooks… This could be dangerous indeed, the horror of her second year came easily to mind._

Leaning down, she peered at the notebook, noting that it belonged to a Misapinoa Black, the name embossed in a beautiful, slanting handwriting on the dark leather of the cover. 

_This was potentially dangerous. And who was this Misapinoa? Probably not someone nice, knowing the Black family, so…_

Taking out her wand, she checked the book thoroughly, but she couldn’t detect any harmful magic in it. _Still, did she know enough to check it for hidden dark spells?_

Making a quick decision, she Levitated the notebook, stuffing it inside the book with the dark wards, before putting the book back into her her bag. 

Xxxx

  
  


“And you didn’t touch it at all?” he asked, staring at her, black eyes hard and suspicious. 

“No, not at all. It fell out of the book, and after checking it, I Levitated it inside again.” 

She had knocked on his office doors, though it was late, but he had admitted her into his dim office, not saying a word. 

“Good. Well done, for such a curious little thing as yourself.” That curt approval made her almost blush, and the familiar tingle from her late night dreams was suddenly there. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, taking in his scent. _He was all books, leather and parchment, and something spicy - maybe cedar and bergamot - and something fresh and green._

Almost drunk with the scent, she opened her eyes, meeting that black stare, the intensity almost suffocating. 

“So, Granger, “ his voice was deeper than usual, “you want me to check this for you, to see what this Misapinoa Black wrote in her notebook?” 

He made no comment as to why she had kept the book from the Black library, and she felt relieved. Nodding, she whispered: “Yes please, sir.” 

Severus Snape pursed his lips, before bringing out his wand. The long, elegant black wand pointed straight at the notebook, and through a series of whispered spells - _she taking great care to commit which spells he used to memory -_ at last he shook his head. “Oddly enough, it’s clean. Go on, open it.” 

“Ok,” she said, muttered, glancing at him between her eyelashes. _She had, in fact, looked forward to reading it by herself, but maybe he was curious too. Likely, he would be._

He moved to stand beside her, dark robes rustling in the dark, him towering over her, making her feel tiny and … safe. Setting a bobbing reading light above their heads, he leaned in, making her feel goosebumps of pleasure as his arm brushed hers. 

Opening it carefully, she saw it was an account of the magical inauguration of 12 Grimmauld Place. 

_I would like to write down how we made 12 Grimmauld Place into a true home for our noble house of Black. I, Misapinoa Black, participated in the ritual to create and wake the house to be our warden, protecting our home and our family against anything untoward. The ritual was the grandest ritual held for centuries in a wizarding family, rivalling how the wizarding families of Malfoy, Prince and Rosier made their ancestral homes in the old days._

_The inauguration of 12 Grimmauld Place took place on 13 August 1840, at the full moon. My father had gathered all of our family to help, and we had rounded up a host of Muggle prisoners, one for each of the rooms in the house. The hunt and the chase for the Muggles was a thing of glory, though, of course it must be kept a secret._

_The ritual took place in what would be our drawing room. My mother had made a circle of fire, green flames crackling without scorching the precious floor, and we were all holding hands._

_First, we were chanting, casting the spell to ready the house to receive sacrifices. With a groan, like a thing from the Underworld, the house yawned, a great chasm opening in the circle._

_We fed it fear, despair, pain and bitter anger, coercing those emotions from the Muggles by various means._

_There were acts of debauchery I wouldn’t like to describe in writing. Suffice to say, the screams were loud enough to make me block my ears. My brother participated, doing the deed on the behalf of the male line, as my mother wouldn’t allow my father doing … that … with Muggles. Oh wait - I would like to add, there was one girl escaping, a pretty young thing, trying to run away through the house, but her long, heavy velvet dress hindered her, and my brother easily overtook her on the second floor. He grabbed her, though she twisted and screamed, rending her clothes from her, and did the deed right there in the hall, before carrying her limp body back to the circle, throwing her into the maw of the house._

_At last all the Muggles were slaughtered, blood given to each room, to awaken the spirit of the house. We all had to sacrifice a few drops of blood to make it recognize us, the Blacks, as the superior rulers of the house._

_Now, the house is talking, our constant companion, keeping watch against attacks from enemies, Muggles and Mudbloods. We are safe here at 12 Grimmauld Place, because the house will always turn away a Muggle or a Mudblood without a wizard master. Or - as I convinced father to add - a witch mistress. In a few years, I’d like a Muggle slave of my own, but I have to wait. I’m only fourteen as of yet._

Her Professor slammed the thin notebook shut, looking thoroughly disgusted, taking a step away from her, making her immediately miss his warmth. “There’s the Blacks for you,” he spat. “Evil, insane, heartless and ruthless. No wonder the house was mad as a Porlock in the breeding season.” 

Furrowing her brows, she thought of the things she had experienced at the house. _Nightmares, the dark, foreboding sense of something lurking - was this all because the house was meant to ward against Muggleborns and Muggles?_

Slowly, she said: “I had nightmares, you know. I was running through the house, in old-fashioned clothes, trying to get away from something evil. Just like that girl they killed.” 

He snorted. “I had them too. The house tried to make me chase you and to…” he stopped short, giving her a quick glance filled with shame. “I told it to leave you alone. I most certainly hope it did after a while.” 

“Oh,” she said. “Yes, _those_ dreams stopped.” _But she couldn’t help thinking about the other dreams. Those dreams hadn’t stopped yet, still making her hot and bothered here at Hogwarts. Those dreams weren’t the house, they were all … him._

“Good,” he said, looking uncomfortable, his cheeks flushing slightly. 

Xxxx

At Slughorn’s Christmas party, he felt nauseous, watching that big brute of a boy, Mr. McLaggen, try to stick his tongue down her throat under the misteltoe. She looked so pretty, so delicate, in a pink dress, showcasing her cleavage to its advantage, _mouthwatering,_ really. _Was this the night, was this the boy she had planned for her deflowering? How_ **_could_ ** _she?!_

The conversation around him was a buzz to his ears, the vampire that Slughorn had dragged into the school trying to ask him something: “So, Professor Snape, I hear you’re so very excellent. Have you experimented with Blood Poisons? Because I would like to suggest…” 

_It could have been a legitimate business offer, but Severus wasn’t about to listen._

Growling, he ripped his sleeves away from the pale long fingers of the vampire, and he stepped towards the centre of the room with the offending mistletoe. 

Rationalizing the act to himself, heart hammering in rage, he thought: _Everybody knew him to strike down hard on any improper behaviour, so what if he did it here too? What if he threw that dratted boy out on his arse, sending him into detention with Filch for months and months…_

Then she wriggled away, to his immense satisfaction, and her expression of disgust tugged at something in his chest. _She hadn’t wanted or welcomed McLaggen’s advances, not at all, to judge by the grimace on her face. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but that was clearly out of the question._ Then the mess that was his life intruded, destroying the evening quite effectively, and suddenly, Granger was nowhere to be seen. 

Xxxx

He could have shouted with a strange mix of terror and joy, when Dumbledore informed him that he’d require an obscene amount of potions over Christmas.

“There have been fights, and so many reconnaisse missions,” the Headmaster said apologetically. “We need more Polyjuice, ageing potions, Befuddlement Draughts, various antidotes and Healing Potions, and especially antivenins. And, as the fight continues, I must say several Order members have requested Dreamless Sleep. With what’s happening, people are finding it hard to relax and sleep.” 

“No poisons?” Severus drawled, and Dumbledore shook his head. 

“Not yet, Severus. Not yet.” 

“Such a shame. I might have brewed double batches, instead of staying up day and night to tend different potions. You know, the Dark Lord has requested rather large amounts of poisons again. He also wants whole batches of Polyjuice, Essence of Insanity, Forgetfulness potion and, oddly enough, a batch of Girding potion.” 

“Girding potion?” Dumbledore looked baffled. 

“Yes, I have no idea as to why. There must be a pregnant Death Eater that he wishes to cater to. I have no idea who it is.” 

“How odd.” Dumbledore shook his head, before he ventured: “We could ask Granger again. It worked well during the summer, didn’t it?” 

Heart hammering, he nodded slowly. _Because he desperately wanted to, he craved her close to him. Away from any boys she might plan to fuck. But… Would he be able to hold the house at bay, now, when she had come of age? He had to. He had to find a way!_

_He would tell the house that he couldn’t act until she had finished school. It would protest, badger him with sullen mutterings. Though, it didn’t matter, because by now, he knew he was falling hopelessly for her. He just wanted to be with her again, like he had been over summer. Nothing improper … just … talking to her, enjoying her company._

“I’ll have Granger, then,” he stated, Occluding like he was up against the Dark Lord, looking straight into Albus' blue eyes. 

The Headmaster nodded. “I’ll ask her. It’s good for you to have some company that you actually enjoy, Severus,” he added, eyes twinkling mercilessly. 

Severus grimaced. “Enjoy…” he said, acid dripping from his voice, though it was only for show. “She gets the work done.” 

“Oh, I daresay the two of you enjoyed each other’s company. You deserve some happiness too,” Albus said, looking uncommonly serious. 

Giving him a filthy glare - _what did the old coot know? Did his Occlumency fail in some way? It was impossible to say -_ Severus rose, marching down to his dungeon. 

Xxxx

That evening, she came to his office. Due to the icy drafts in the cold castle, she wore a thick, woolen cardigan on top of her much too tight Muggle jeans. And - _he knew it was mostly to please him, every single student knew he was strict when it came to wearing the school uniform_ \- her black school robes on top. 

“I need to spend Christmas Day with my parents,” she said, “but if you could come and get me by Boxing Day…? I suppose I’m not allowed to travel by myself, even though it’s just an hour by train.” 

“Of course,” he said gallantly, but winced on the inside, thinking about her incredibly bossy mother. _Would he have to drink Christmas punch this time, or maybe she’d force him to eat ginger bread for hours? He hoped none of them had discovered that he had Banished that awful fruit cup they had served during summer, dumping it underneath the lilac tree._

There was something important he had to tell her, though. _The house - she had to know. Or else, the stupid thing might start blabbering to her, unsettling her to no end._

“Listen, Granger,” he said gruffly, trying to hide his embarrassment and shame, “the house … I … you were troubled by it during the summer.” 

“Yes,” she nodded, cocking her head attentively to what he said, “Like I told you, I had nightmares, and… it was just, I felt like it wanted to harm me.” 

“As you probably guessed, the house tried to make us enact the horrors that created it, by influencing our dreams,” he said heavily. “Sentient houses do what they will, no matter the wish of their masters, just like Hogwarts. The House of Black is just not that … nice.” _He was going to say erratic, but thought better of it. The castle was prone to listening in, and quite vengeful._ “That’s what you get when you pour an inordinate amount of blood into the wards, you know.” 

“I realized that,” she muttered. “I know you would never do that. What the house wanted, I mean.” 

Stupidly enough, her trust made something inside him flutter. Clearing his throat, he continued: “So… the house wards were set against Muggleborns, Muggles and enemies in general, the Blacks being who they were. When I realized the extent to which the house was bothering you, I …” 

He stopped short, not meeting her eyes. 

“You…” she prodded, looking expectantly at him, but he couldn’t get the words out. “I know something changed,” she said at last. “My dreams weren’t … nightmares, all of a sudden. They were my own.” Inexplicably, she blushed deeply, like there was something embarrassing about her dreams, before blurting out: “Could it actually harm me, if it tried?”

“Maybe,” he said, swallowing. “It could try to make you fall, it could drop things on you, like a chandelier, or … try to drive you mad, by scaring you.” 

“Hmm.” He could see that bright mind of her whirring, gauging the risk to herself. 

“Look, Granger,” he said, voice hoarse. “I commanded it not to harm you. But to make it stop scaring you, I told the house… I told the house I was your master, because I suspected it would allow you to stay unharmed - that’s a _common_ trait for these kinds of wards. After that, it accepted you readily, being under a wizard’s rule. That doesn’t mean I would ever … I did it to protect you. I will keep it at bay when we return, but it might … _say ..._ things to you.” 

The silence in the room was oppressive, heavy, like a lightning was about to strike. Slowly, the girl reddened, licking her lips, before she whispered: “Master, indeed…” 

“Yes,” he said, not meeting those big, brown eyes. _If she marched out, going straight to Dumbledore, he couldn’t blame her. But she had to know._

“Your office has a Silencing Charm, yes?” she asked, suddenly looking nervous. 

“Correct,” he stated, peering curiously at her. _Her reaction wasn’t as bad as he had feared, and he felt the fluttering in his chest settle somewhat._

Taking a deep breath, like she tried to calm her nerves, she asked: “When we’re back at Grimmauld together … I wanted to ask you a favour.” 

She fidgeted for a long time, and he raised his eyebrow. “Out with it,” he said, not unfriendly, wondering why she’d need a favour from him. _Would there be books she needed from Flourish and Blotts or ingredients for her own use, did she want to learn a particular spell, or…_

The question, when it came, bowled him over. 

“Would you take my virginity?” Her eyes were big and dark, and she was wringing her hands nervously. 

The silence was ringing, and he felt blood rush south to his cock, suddenly painfully hard, his trousers tented underneath his desk. 

Still, he managed to get out: “I’m the one who’ll kick up the least fuss now, am I?” 

“Something like that,” she said, eyes now fixed on her trembling hands.

Though his cock, his mind and even his heart yelled a resounding _yes_ , _you fool, a thousand times yes,_ and the insidious voice in his mind told him it would solve all his troubles with the house, he shook his head. 

“It wouldn’t be right, Granger,” he responded hoarsely. “You deserve to do this with someone you care for. Don’t treat this thing like something you want to get rid of, or a task you can tick off. Find someone you’ll care for, and then you can … indulge. It will be better that way. Casual encounters isn’t the way to start your … sex… life.” _And why the fuck did he always feel the need to do the right thing? It was guilt, that’s what it was, continually atoning for the sins of his youth._

She bit her lip, like she wanted to say something, but didn’t dare. 

For a while, both of them were silent. Then she rose, not meeting his eyes, and said: “See you on Boxing Day.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the next chapter, we'll be returning to Grimmauld. ;-)


	5. Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You fit my requirements,” she said stubbornly, brown eyes now glaring at him, a spot of colour high in her cheeks, her arms folded beneath her breasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for showing this little story so much love! <3

_“You’re back!”_

The voice was almost a hiss of welcome as Severus entered 12 Grimmauld Place. 

“Merry Christmas, house,” he said whimsically, feeling almost elated as he put his suitcase down, looking around in the dim, grimy hall. _He was to be with her all Christmas, with no one to interfere, with no need to keep his facade._

 _“Will you be staying long? Is the Mudblood coming too?”_ The voice was oddly hopeful, and Severus got the impression that the house was pleased to see him, like it had been waiting. 

Sliding a finger along the banister, seeing the grey layer of dust piling up on his finger, he merely said: “Didn’t Kreacher clean anything when he came back? It looks even worse than before.” 

_“No,"_ it muttered, anger and embarrassment in the disembodied voice. “ _He is old and useless. His head should go up on the wall, like the others."_

Severus glanced at the stairs, where the heads of former House-elves were mounted on the wall. “No, I don’t think so,” he said, frowning at the familiar but ghastly sight, the deceased House-elves staring straight ahead with glassy eyes, sharp teeth bared in a rictus grin. 

_“Ah. How are things with the Mudblood? She likes elves, doesn’t she? Would she cry if you killed Kreacher, pinning his ugly head up, adding to my collection?”_

“You will behave,” he snapped, scowling as he left the hall, moving down the stairs to the basement, to set their supplies in the kitchen and the pantry-turned-lab.

Rolling his eyes at the state of it all, he swished a few quick cleaning spells, rinsing the surfaces for accumulated dust, grime, cobwebs and dead flies. Enlarging the supplies, he set everything out on the large table, readying himself to Banish everything methodically to the cupboards, setting the appropriate Cooling Charms on the cheeses, butter, milk and meat. 

There was a scuffling sound, and Kreacher came creeping out of his lair, blinking owlishly. His thin, frail body seemed to be on the verge of collapse, like he hadn’t eaten properly for months or possibly years. 

Severus wondered how it was possible to look so pitiful and decrepit, and yet so malevolent, but he nodded a polite greeting to the old Elf. 

“Hmph,” the Elf muttered sourly. “Back without the Mudblood, I see?” 

“I’m going to get her in an hour, we’ll be staying over Christmas,” Severus told him, placing the tea neatly beside the flour and sugar, turning to point his wand at the rice and the pasta. 

“Bah!” the House-elf spat. “I’m leaving, she will not trick me into _clothes,_ filthy thing she is!” 

_“I can’t see why you worry, “_ the House sniped. _“You don’t do any of your chores as it is, acting like you are a free Elf. I wouldn’t see the difference if you had clothes or no. You are useless.”_

With a derisive, insulting snort: “As if anyone bothers with _you_ , abandoned, deserted house that you are. No one wants to live here, the Family has forsaken you,” Kreacher took off, disappearing with a loud CRACK!

 _“The nerve of it, you should do something! An Elf shouldn’t act like that, rude, unwilling to work, going Outside without leave!”_ the house hissed at him, anger roiling around him, making the heavy chandelier sway above the long table, shaking down more cobwebs. 

Severus shrugged, swishing the Cleaning spell again. “I’m not the real master, you know. That dubious honour falls to young Mr. Potter, though he lent the house to Dumbledore - who transferred the privilege to me.” 

“ _Yess_ ,” the house whispered. “ _Master… You are master now, and is the Mudblood yours as well?_ ” 

“About that…” Severus said, readying himself for a battle. “I’ve decided to wait until she’s finished school. I’m her Professor, and I can’t be seen dallying with a student.” 

“ _I see_ ,” the house muttered absently, like it was preoccupied. “ _She is of age by now, isn’t she?_ ” 

With a sigh, he confirmed, as he closed the last cupboard, moving into the makeshift lab. 

Placing the ingredients with care - _by hand -_ he worked for close to an hour. 

“ _Shouldn’t you go fetch the Mudblood?_ ” the house whispered slyly. “ _I know you want to see her.”_

Glancing around the room, he nodded. He was almost done, the lab looking pristine and ready for brewing. _There would be no nonsense, just brewing here with her. Just companionship. Nothing else._

Walking briskly through the entrance hall towards the door, he noted he had forgotten his suitcase in the hall, instead of leaving it in his room. _That wouldn’t do, he needed to take a detour by his room before getting Granger._

Bounding up the stairs, feeling strangely cheerful, there was a strange rush, and one of the beheaded House-elves fell down - _like in slow motion_ \- its sharp teeth lodging in his hand. Shaking it off with a snarl, Vanishing the damned thing, he stared down at the small gash in his hand. Continuing to his bedroom, he whispered furiously to the house: “That was uncalled for! You’ll do no such things to me - nor her!” 

The house was quiet, like it was waiting for something with secret amusement, and as he placed his suitcases in his dark bedroom, the deep green curtains not letting in much light, Severus pulled out his wand, cleaning the wound, chanting a quick Healing spell. 

He never noticed the house’s subdued pleasure as a few droplets of blood fell on the floor, sinking into the wood. 

Xxxx

Severus had been right, because the Grangers forced him to drink mulled wine and eat mince pies until he contemplated Confounding them. Christmas carols were blaring from their radio, the living room was much too warm and the pillows in the sofa much to soft. 

Miss Granger, however, looked just perfect, unruly hair fastened with combs, and her sweet face smiling. She had dressed in a nice, green dress, showing off her shapely calves, and he couldn’t help glancing at the small silver necklace around her neck, the pendant hanging just at the top of her cleavage. 

He forced his eyes away from that enticing image, telling himself it was all kinds of inappropriate to ogle the girl in her parents’ house. 

The Grangers were clad in matching Christmas sweaters - _with reindeers and a Christmas tree -_ and after a while, he wondered exactly how tipsy they had been before he arrived. 

Miss Granger seemed sober, just sipping at her glass, ignoring her father’s insistence that she should empty her glass to get a refill: “It’s not so tasty when it isn’t steaming, Hermione, it’s much better while it’s warm.” 

“Mum, I think we need to leave,” she said reasonably, several times, but her mother, red-cheeked and merry, exclaimed: “Oh, Hermione, I hardly ever see you. What’s another hour with your parents? I’m sure Professor Snape can spare an hour for us to be with our only child during the holidays.” 

“Darn right!” her father boomed, filling up the glasses again. “And you must bring some of your mother’s mince pies with you, I know how you love them!”

There was another half an hour of mindless talk about the weather and the antics of Crookshanks, who apparently was Miss Granger’s half-Kneazle: 

“Are you sure, my dear, about not bringing him to that place in London where you’re staying? He missed you so much last summer…” 

“Dad, no, he can’t go outside where we’re staying, so he’ll be more happy with you, until the train…” 

But suddenly, the apple-cheeked Mrs. Granger changed the subject completely, and winked slyly at her daughter. “I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.” 

Miss Granger looked equally confused as he felt, as Mrs. Granger continued: “Love, we’re not going to reprimand you, it’s not like that. You know we don’t look down on age differences, your Dad being twelve years older than me, and your Grandpa was twenty years older than your Grandma...”

Severus blinked, but Miss Granger reacted much more quickly than him. 

Her face scarlet, the girl almost shouted: “No, Mum, you have it all wrong, it’s not like that…” 

But her mother continued: “Hush, we’ve seen the way you look at one another, and he’s the only man - or boy, for that matter - you’ve ever bothered to bring home. You’re so mature, so we won’t be in the way of you having some time alone together. I suppose that’s difficult when school is in session. We just want you to be happy, love, and I want you to know you have our blessing.” 

Miss Granger looked helpless, mortified, and he decided to step in.

Clearing his throat, feeling like he was blushing himself, though that surely couldn’t be, he drawled: “Dear Mrs. Granger, you should listen to your daughter. It’s _not_ like that, this is a purely professional relationship.” In his head, a small voice chanted: _It’s not, and you know it. You want her, and she asked you. She_ **_asked_ ** _you! Maybe her mother knows her better, maybe…_

“I apologize,” Mrs Granger said, glancing at her husband, who was silently laughing at the whole thing. “Maybe it was too early. Maybe I intruded, but… I have a hunch for these things, and I want you to know, I respect my daughter’s choices. She’s a smart young _woman_.” 

The emphasis on the last word wasn’t lost to him, and he swallowed. _You could make her a woman. She asked_ **_you_** _._ Instead, he said coolly: “Be that as it may. Maybe it’s time for us to leave, Miss Granger. Is the cat coming or no?” 

Xxxx

Back in the cavernous kitchen of Grimmauld, the cold from outside seeping in through the rough stone walls, she whispered, still mortified, the large, orange cat prowling about in the corners: “I’m sorry for what my mother said. That was unbelievably rude, and I …” 

His response was gruff. “Don’t mention it, Miss Granger. If you knew how often my parents had embarrassed me in my youth…” 

_The house purred in a disgusting gloating and smirking welcome. The Mudblood is of age. You must take her, make her learn who her master is. Do it now, here in the kitchen. The Mudblood won’t mind, she likes you. Prove to her that you are her master!_

Irritated, he slammed down his defenses, denying the house access to his mind. Sullenly, it retreated, lurking on the edge of his consciousness. 

Her eyes were downcast, and she avoided looking at him, her voice very low. “It’s even more embarrassing with what I asked you, you know.” 

The giant cat pounced on a mouse, making them both jump at the sudden squeal, and he muttered: “I realize that.” For some reason, his stupid brain decided to add, maybe due to all the mulled wine at her parents house: “About that, Granger, it’s not that I wouldn’t want to, but it isn’t right. Just to make that clear. You deserve better.” 

“I want the best,” she snapped fiercely, making his jaw fall. 

“Miss Granger!” he sputtered. “I’m hardly the best piece of flesh on the market. You could get so much better...” 

“You fit my requirements,” she said stubbornly, brown eyes now glaring at him, a spot of colour high in her cheeks, her arms folded beneath her breasts. 

Severus sighed, dragging his hand across his brow. “Miss Granger…” 

“ _Hermione_ ,” she insisted. 

“Hermione,” he relented, “I’m… nineteen years older than you. I’m a Death Eater and a spy. I’m your Professor. I’m old, ugly and scarred. You are young, beautiful and brilliant. You don’t know who you could get, that’s the problem. Any young wizard would be proud to…” 

“You fit MY requirements,” she repeated, “and I’m the one who decides what I need or not. You can’t say no because you think _I_ want something else. You could say no if _you_ don’t want me, but if you do, then…” 

Severus groaned. His body was yelling at him for being so stubborn, so intransigently stupid, but the last vestiges of his dwindling morals, his ethics as a teacher, was firmly entrenched, and he was determined to stay on the right path. _Mentally patting his back on his staunch behaviour…_

_Until…_

Until she said, eyes soft: “I want a man whom I trust. I want a man who might know his way around a woman’s body, not some boy who’ll try to use me as a toy with no regards for my pleasure. I want a man with a brain to match mine, someone I can respect as a person. Most of all, I want a man, a man I know will allow me to be myself, and not expect me to act like a different person because he can’t handle me as I am. A man, whom _I_ care about.” 

“And you believe I am all that.” His voice was but a whisper, but her answer was loud and clear: “Yes, I do.” 

Xxxx

Later, he couldn’t tell how they had ended up in his dusty, dark bedroom, but he suspected he might have Apparated her upstairs, the house chuckling gleefully in the background. _He ignored it. This was about the two of them, not what the damned house wanted. She would have him, and he … couldn’t resist her. Not anymore._

Her skin was softer than he had imagined, her long hair silkier to the touch too, and he took hold of that mass of curls, tugging her head away so he could kiss and suckle her throat. Her whimpers went straight to his already hard cock, and he cherished the way her moans grew throatier as he pulled her hair. 

“You would want me to take control?” The question was almost a snarl, and, somehow, he was quite sure of her opinion, but it never hurt to ask before he got into it. 

“Yes,” she panted, “yes, I want you to take me.” 

“I will, little witch, I will,” he growled into her ear, making her tremble so deliciously in his arms. 

If he wasn’t in such a hurry, he would have loved to undress her slowly, unwrapping her like a present, kissing each inch of her warm skin, but right now, they were both out of time. 

“ _Divesto!_ ” Their clothing fell away, and he descended on her pert breasts with his mouth and hands, making her gasp. They were soft and round, the perfect size to fit in his palm, and her nipples were a delicious dusty pink. There was a faint, floral scent to her skin, like the remnant of her soap, and he drew in the smell, nostrils expanding as he caught the sweet whiff of heady arousal from her lower body. 

“Oh,” she whimpered, “oh, Professor!” Her hands tugged at his hair, holding his head close to her, and he licked, suckled and bit lightly on those hard nipples, making her squirm against him. One hand snaked around her back, fingers splayed out, sliding down the small of her back to cup her arse, pressing her lower body to his. 

Her hands were first roaming his arms and shoulders - _he had to admit, he flexed his muscles just to impress her -_ then moving to caress his lean chest, pulling and stroking at the wiry hairs, exploring his nipples, before moving over his abdomen, and finally, hesitantly, down to the throbbing ache in his very erect cock. 

Groaning as her fist closed around him, he bucked into her hand, almost spilling over as she whispered: “You must be big. Bigger than I thought.”

Xxxx

His reaction when she touched him was very satisfying. That big, silky hard cock lurched in her hand, and he was swearing softly under his breath: “Fuck, Hermione, fuck, this…” 

“Fuck _me_ ,” she dared to whisper, and he laughed huskily, black eyes glittering at her. 

“I will,” he said fervently, “I will, but first...” 

Her eyes devoured his pale skin - _scarred in places, just like he had said -_ drinking in the lean, but defined chest and abdomen with a dusting of black hair, and the strong, wiry muscles of his arms, courtesy from years of stirring heavy cauldrons and thick solutions. _And his cock… Protruding veins and ridges, silky skin over throbbing steel, a large red, velvety head with a blank droplet at the slit. She could barely get her hand around him, and Merlin, he was more than she had dreamt of. After all, she had spent an inordinate amount of time thinking and dreaming of him._

Pushing her back on his tall bed, the bed springs on the large four poster creaking in protest, her body falling on the dusty green sheets, making a small cloud of dust puff up around them, he spread her legs, kneeling on the wooden floor in front of the bed. With a grunt, he pulled her hips to him, and the dark head moved in between her legs, nibbling at her inner thighs, before his long tongue swiped along her slit. 

“Merlin,” she squealed, the sensation foreign and _oh so delicious_ , her hips bucking up, but he pinned her down relentlessly, his wet and strong tongue lapping at her, licking her hard clit, rolling his tongue around it, one long finger probed her opening, gently sliding inside. _Even his finger was a stretch, and she almost trembled, thinking about the size of him, and how much more that would be._

“You’re so wet,” he groaned, “so very wet for me,” and she arched her back, panting: 

“Yes, Professor, I want this, I want this so much!” 

He grunted, the finger inside starting to pump her in earnest, muttering: “So tight, so very tight, I’m not sure I can fit my cock in here, Hermione.” 

“Please try,” she groaned throatily, and in response, he sucked her clit into his mouth, his long black hair tickling the inside of her thighs. 

It was all too much, and suddenly she exploded, back arching upwards, hips jerking helplessly in his grip, her sex trembling, clenching around his finger, and there was a white light behind her eyes - a sense of falling, _falling,_ **_falling_ **\- a rushing sound in her ears, filling her, making her scream: “Severus! Oh, Professoooor!” 

It seemed like it went on for a long time, her breath coming in heaving gasps, but then he raised his head. 

Black eyes met hers, the lust and desire in there almost scaring her, and he wiped his glistening chin with the back of his hand. Snarling, he left her twitching sex, rising slowly, positioning himself to stand between her splayed legs, her toes curling around the edge of the bed. 

He yanked her body closer, making her sling her legs around his hips for support, before he leaned forward, supporting himself on the edge of the bed with one hand, as the other guided his cock to her opening. 

“It’ll be a stretch,” he muttered by warning, and the blunt head of his cock pressed against her opening, the head velvety and scorching hot against her slick, swollen sex, trying to force her body to let him in. 

With a small growl, he grabbed hold of her hip with one hand, pulling her to him, like he needed the additional force to coerce her body to obey. For a moment, she didn’t think it would fit _\- there was no room -_ _the pressure increasing_ \- but then her body yielded, and the bulbous head slid inside. 

There was a whining gasp - _hers -_ as she stretched out around him. He groaned, trembling above her, before he relentlessly pushed more of his length inside, sheathing his cock inside her wet opening. There was a slight feeling of rift and tear, but the burning stretch was worse, her body adjusting slowly to his girth. 

“So tight,” he grunted, “you’re doing such a good job, taking it all, girl, taking my cock, good girl.” 

“I’m your good girl,” she panted mindlessly, glorying in the fact that she had finally had gotten him - _that_ ** _he_** _was making her_ ** _his_** \- “I’m _your_ good girl, thank you, Professor, for fucking me… master!” 

His eyes widened at that, and both hands grabbed her waist in a bruisingly hard grip, pulling her to him as his hips began thrusting inside her, at first lightly, slowly, letting her opening expand around him, getting used to the intrusion, her hands gripping the sheets hard, and then the stretch slowly eased up. 

Moving faster, his cock becoming all slick by her fluids, he groaned above her, black hair swinging as he thrust into her until he was slamming himself in her, yanking her body onto him with each pounding thrust, his hips working his cock in and out of her opening, producing wet slapping sounds as hard flesh met soft. 

“Merlin, you’re so… tight… You’re so … good, Hermione, I’ve wanted this for a long time, I’m going to come in your tight pussy, filling you up, fucking you so hard, making you **_mine_ **…!” 

With a groan, he shuddered, and she felt his cock jerk inside her, jerk and twitch, as his eyes closed in a blissful grimace, hips bucking into her. There was blooming warmth inside, and she knew Severus Snape had just spent himself inside her. _And she couldn’t help it, she felt pleased and grateful, because this was everything she had wanted in those long nights in her lonely bed in Gryffindor Tower._

He lowered himself to the bed, laying on top of her, hiding his face in the crook of her shoulder. Her hands came up to pet the sweaty strands of his long hair, before he started to laugh, breathlessly, happily. 

“I shouldn’t have done this, not in a million years, but I’m certainly not regretting it. If you’ll have me, Granger, I’ll fuck you every day until Christmas is over. You’ll barely be able to walk onto the train.” 

“And after?” she asked softly, turning his head, letting him see her hopeful look. 

He grimaced, and they both knew how difficult that would be, and the number of obstacles they would face. But then something seemed to harden in him, resolving, like he was making a decision. Black eyes looking at her like he’d drown in her eyes, he stated: “As I said, if you’ll have me, then … I’m there. No matter what.” 

Xxxx

_As the wizard pulled out, the girl still perching on the edge of he bed, it watched the small droplet of blood slide from her sex, dripping down on the floor, into the structure. It felt a shuddering satisfaction. Blood. Finally. The long, lonely and boring days were over._

_Though, it wasn’t entirely pleased with the outcome. The act should have been more brutal, the wizard should have been more violent and preferably, more blood should have been spilt. It would also have enjoyed seeing the Mudblood cry. The two of them had stayed too long away from its embrace and influence, and stupidly enough, the wizard had affixed his feelings to the Mudblood, and she to him. Love… that wasn’t something it had accounted for. Silly things, but then again, they_ **_weren’t_ ** _Blacks._

_The wizard was merely a Half-Blood, but he was also a Prince. A good stock, it remembered his grandfather. Augustus Prince had been a proper dark wizard, never balking at a bit of Muggle baiting, and they had their own House, now occupied by the wizard’s aunt and uncle. It was important to uphold the true families, and the late Augustus Prince would have wanted to secure the continuation of his line, making it strong, no matter the shame his daughter had inflicted on the family name._

_As for the girl … she was filth really, but grudgingly, it admitted that she was a strong, clever witch. At the very least, she could be a brood mare for the Half-Blood. He was already late in fulfilling his duty to his family._

_Still, the wizard had declared his mastery of the girl, and she had received him with pleasure, grateful for his attention like she should be. It would no longer have to worry about betraying the old Family anymore by allowing an unbound Mudblood to stay within its walls. Now, the Mudblood had a master, and 12 Grimmauld Place was satisfied._

_Though this wasn’t perfect, it was a solution to its predicament, being without a Family. To be abandonded was the greatest shame of all for a House. Now, it had their Blood. That meant it had a proper new Master, though the Mistress was severely lacking. That Potter boy could go and hang himself, because ownership of a House was transferred with Blood, not with paperwork. Now, it had a new Family, a strong, virile wizard and a young, powerful witch._

_Slowly, the house snickered. They would be surprised to learn that their Contraception Charms had been Jinxed. It was a shame, though, that the discovery would happen Outside, where it couldn’t see the shock and dismay on their faces. There would be new heirs to the Family yet, and it would do anything within its powers to make them settle Inside. After all, that was the mission of a House: Protecting and serving its Family._

_Finally, things were looking up for 12 Grimmauld Place._

XXXX

**_FIN_ **

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading Grimmauld! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. :-) 
> 
> I love old houses. I’m that kind of person who follows instagram profiles showing empty, derelict old houses, and if possible (don’t tell anyone!), I enter all such houses I come across if given the opportunity, loving the decay, the rotten furniture, flaking paint and tattered curtains. I sort of want to save them all, restore them to their glory days, though I’m even less handy than Kreacher, lol. So, I wanted to make the house happy as well, twistedly so.


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